Christmas Wrapping
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: Rumple and Bae fall thru the portal to our world and land in frontier Maine stumbling upon the home of widowed Belle Winters and her teenage daughter Regina, who are celebrating Christmas alone because of a secret they both share. Can the former Dark One and his son make the season merry and bright and find some love at the same time? Rumbelle historical AU!
1. Arrival

**Christmas Wrapping**

**A Once holiday fic**

_The Enchanted Forest:_

"Bae, I don't know about this," Rumplestiltskin, also known as the Dark One since he had been cursed over a year ago, said to his fourteen-year-old son as they walked through the deepening dusk amid the gnarled oak and elder trees. He was wearing his customary silk shirt and leather pants, and a tooled leather vest with a cloak wrapped about him. His dark curling hair flowed about his shoulders and enhanced his golden scaled skin and deep amber eyes.

"Papa, this is the only way we can break your curse and then we can be like we used to," Bae persuaded, his curly dark hair just brushing his shoulders. He was wearing a soft blue-gray shawl over a white tunic and brown pants with black boots. He resembled his father in his facial features, though his hair was his mother's. His hand caressed the magic bean given to him by the Blue Fairy in his pocket.

"Bae, I don't trust fairies," Rumple objected. "They often say one thing and do something unexpected."

_Like you do now, Papa, _his son thought but did not say aloud. The last thing he wanted was to quarrel with his father, especially since getting him to agree to this had been difficult enough. "Papa, she promised to help me—help us both."

The sorcerer sighed. "Bae, did she say where this bean would take us?"

The boy shrugged. "Uh . . .she said to a Land Without Magic. Over there your curse would be inactive or something."

"I hope you're right, Baelfire." Rumple was still uneasy about this deal he'd made. Not only because he didn't trust the sanctimonious fairy who'd given Bae the bean, but also because he was frightened of becoming a cripple again and unable to protect his son. For the first time in his life, after he had become the Dark One, his perpetual anxiety and terrible self-esteem had vanished, as if it had never been. He was no longer afraid of anyone or anything. Instead people were afraid of _him._ For a man who had been mocked, taunted, and spit on since he was a child, first for being the son of a grifter, cheat, and coward, then later called one himself for choosing to believe a seer's two-bit prophecy that he would die in battle the following morning and leave his son fatherless, and then breaking his own ankle so he could return home to his infant son, making himself a cripple, being feared was a novelty and a wonder. As was being able to finally protect his son the way a father should.

Rumple had always felt ashamed of himself, for not being the sort of father he felt Bae should have, the kind who was strong and unhampered by a crippled foot, a coward's reputation, and someone to be proud of. He'd done his best for the boy, but he felt it was never enough, and his gentle nature made him the target of bullies and arrogant cruel men.

But as the Dark One, with all the power of the dark magic at his fingertips, he could make men tremble in their boots, and all those who had once mocked and hurt him run away in fear like little boys sobbing from the boogeyman.

He wasn't sure if he could give that up.

Still, a deal was a deal. And Rumple might be cursed, but he broke his word to no one.

Especially his son.

Bae threw the bean down and it landed on the ground and a greenish spinning vortex formed, rather like a reverse cyclone.

The wind picked up suddenly and howled like a lost soul and the vortex spun about, pulling at their boots. Tree branches cracked and snapped like brittle bones and leaves were shredded and sucked into the portal.

Bae grabbed Rumple's hand and tugged. "C'mon, Papa! Before it fades! It's our only chance!"

Still Rumple hesitated, reluctant to commit to that irrevocable last step. "Bae, maybe we shouldn't—"

"Papa, we have to!" Bae shouted above the roar of the wind. "Please! You promised!" The boy tugged on his papa's hand, and his foot slipped, making him tumble over the edge of the gaping greenish maw of magical energy.

"Bae!" Rumple shouted, fear creasing his features. He struggled to pull the boy up.

"Papa! Don't break our deal!" Bae's eyes were filled with terror and determination.

Rumple felt the siren song of the dagger tug at him relentlessly. It whispered seductively into his ears, promising him power unending . . .but only if he stayed within the boundaries of the Enchanted Forest.

"Papa!" Bae screamed, trying to hang onto his parent while the portal dragged him down. "I'm slipping! Papa, you _promised_ we'd always be together!"

Rumple found himself dragged to the edge of the pit, his heart slamming in his throat as a visceral fear such as he'd never known even when he was a spinner gripped him like a vice. He could feel Bae's fingers slowly being torn from him.

"Hang on, Bae!" he yelped, struggling to grab his son's other hand with his own. "I've got you! Your papa's here!"

But just as his free hand closed upon Bae's other one, the portal snatched his son and then Rumple found himself falling through a greenish cyclone, spun around and around, until they were spat out onto a dirt road in the middle of a snowy moonlit field somewhere far far away.

They landed hard and Bae had the wind knocked out of him and Rumple slammed his head into the ground so hard he saw stars and was dizzy for several moments.

"Bae . . .Bae are you all right?" he croaked, for it hurt to speak.

It was a moment before Bae could respond, he was wheezing trying to get air into his lungs.

"Papa . . .I think we're here," he managed to say. "How're you?"

"I . . .don't think anything's broken," Rumple moaned, and tried to climb to his feet. But as he attempted to stand, his leg crumbled beneath him and he fell back down again with a soft cry of pain.

"Papa!" Bae gasped.

"My leg . . .I'm crippled again," his father groaned. "I need a stick, Bae."

His magic was gone, he could feel a great gaping hole where it had been, and even the dagger had vanished.

"One moment, Papa," Bae jumped to his feet then and went in search of a stick.

Luckily after wandering a few feet down the dirt road he found a small oak tree with its branches laden with snow, and he tugged one free or Rumple to use as a crutch. "Here, Papa," he handed Rumple the stick and aided his father to his feet.

Rumple glanced around. They seemed to be in the middle of a winding dirt road covered in snow. A vast land filled with snow and a few trees seemed to stretch on into the horizon. A sharp chill wind began to blow and the former sorcerer shivered and said, "We need to keep moving, Bae. Find some shelter out of the wind and cold before we freeze."

"I know, Papa. Which way shall we go?"

Rumple saw his son shivering with cold, and tried to see if he could spot smoke from a chimney or a campfire but saw nothing save the gray leaden sky. And it looked as if it were going to snow again. "That way," he pointed south down the road randomly. At this point, one direction was as good as another.

Clutching his stick, he limped down the road.

Bae followed, thinking that if only they could find a shelter, this wouldn't be half bad.

An hour later, father and son were both frozen to the bone, and struggling to stay awake. The road led them through endless fields of snow without a town or any sign of civilization in sight. Both were staggering, and bae had his hand on Rumple's shoulder to keep him upright.

The sky had begun to spit snow and it fell in soft flakes upon them, until they looked like walking abominable snowmen, their hair and faces wet with snow.

Finally they saw some lights in the distance, and Bae cried, "Look, Papa! I see something glowing! Like a lantern!"

"How far, Bae?" Rumple wheezed. His leg was aching so much he felt like he was going to pass out, and he was so cold he could barely feel his good leg.

"Umm, not too far," his son encouraged. "C'mon, Papa. You can do it!" Now Bae felt bad for dragging his father with him to this new land. The Blue Fairy had promised he could find a land of plenty, and yet so far all they'd encountered was snow and freezing cold.

His teeth chattering, Bae muttered, "I think you were right, Papa. The Blue Fairy lied."

"T-told you so!" Rumple shivered. "Fairies always double talk you."

Snow clung to them now like a second skin, but they kept staggering towards the light, until it resolved into a small house behind a split rail fence with a fir tree in the yard. The light was coming from the windows and there was a wreath of fir branches and holly with a big red bow on the door. Strings of cranberries and popcorn were strung on the fir tree and a small stone chimney smoked into the frosty air.

"A house!" gasped Rumple, and stumbled up the walk, which was slippery with a crust of snow and ice.

Bae went to run ahead of his papa when Rumple skidded on a patch of ice and his feet went right out from under him.

For the second time that night his head hit the hard ground and this time he passed out from the pain.

Bae turned upon hearing the thud as Rumple slammed into the ground. For a moment he just stared, stunned. Then he ran back and knelt by Rumple's side. "Papa!"

Rumple was still and Bae saw a trickle of blood stain the snow beside his father's cheek. Panicked, Bae jumped to his feet and raced the few feet to the cottage door and pounded on it. "Help! Help! My papa's hurt and needs help!"

There was no answer and Bae feared they were all asleep and the glow came from a banked fire.

Until the door was flung open and a teenage girl with long dark hair in two braids wearing a fringed deerskin coat lined with sheepskin stood there. "Who are you?" she cried.

"My name's Bae and my papa's hurt over there," Bae pointed to his father lying in the middle of the path. "Can you call your brother or papa to help me?"

The girl tossed her head. "Don't got a papa or a brother. Just a mama, but we manage. Name's Regina Winters." She peered out at the fallen Rumple. "He looks like he's in a bad way. Better get him inside quick. Mama!" she called.

Soon she was joined by a small dark haired woman with bright blue eyes wearing a blue dress and sturdy black shoes. "Regina, what's all the ruckus? Oh!"

"Please, mistress, you gotta help me!" Bae pleaded. "My papa slipped on the ice and fell and he hurt his head."

"I'll do my best, son. I'm Belle Winters," Belle replied, and then she reached over and grabbed another deerhide sheepskin coat from a hook and put it on. Then she stepped into a pair of boots that looked almost too large for her small feet and walked over to where Rumple lay.

She knelt and carefully felt the side of his neck for a pulse and upon finding one said, "We need to get him inside where it's warm. Then I can see about treating his head wound. Regina, Bae, can you get his feet?"

Belle picked up Rumple's shoulders, gently cradling his head against her breast, and together the three managed to move the unconscious spinner into the house.

"Let's put him on the settle by the fire," Belle instructed, and they carefully laid Rumple down.

"I need to get his stick," Bae informed them. "He's lame and needs it to walk."

He hurried out to get it and Belle began examining her surprise guest.

Bae returned to find her examining Rumple's eyes, and listening to his heart with an odd looking wooden bell attached to her ears with a black cord. "What're you doing? Are you some kind of . . .of witch?"

"Medicine woman," Regina corrected automatically. Then she wished she had swallowed her tongue for babbling. She waited for Bae to sneer and order her mama away, the way most townsfolk did once they learned Belle's past. "Umm . . I mean . . ."

But Bae didn't seem to care about what that implied, simply saying, "So is she a good healer then?"

Regina nodded. "Uh huh. She was taught by Willow Heart. If anyone can cure your papa, she can."

"Regina, put on the kettle to boil and get me some clean cloths and my salve," Belle ordered, brushing the snow from her injured guest. She couldn't help but notice the fine features of the man lying on the couch and was quick to suppress a most unladylike flicker of desire as she covered him with some blankets Bae gave her and then washed and dressed the slight bump on Rumple's head. Once that was done, Belle wrapped a hot brick that had been warming by the fire into a flannel and put it by Rumple's feet, after removing his boots and checking to see if his lame leg hadn't been injured in the fall as well.

Then she turned to Bae and said, "I didn't catch your name, young man."

"It's Baelfire, but you can call me Bae. And my papa . . .is Mr. Gold," he said thinking fast. The name fit since Rumple could spin straw into gold. Often the mere sight of the Dark One made people tremble and he wasn't sure if he should tell her who Rumple really was.

He glanced around at the room, and saw that it was sturdily built of wooden logs and besides the settle near the hearth there was also a maple rocking chair with some mending in a basket beside it. On the fireplace mantle was an old fashioned clock, a bone china shepherdess, and several carvings of different animals.

Hung on the mantle was two stockings, red knitted ones, and decorative swags of greenery and more red bows adorned the mantle. In the corner was a small tree decorated lovingly with strings of cranberries, and paper ornaments of birds and tea cups and other small objects.

"You have a tree in your house?" Bae blurted.

"It's a Christmas tree," Regina said, rolling her eyes. "For Christmas."

Bae didn't know what to say to that, and not wanting to seem foolish, he just nodded. Then, because snow was dripping onto the back of his neck and into his hair, he began shivering.

Belle looked up from where she was tucking another blanket about her patient and said softly, "You need to get out of those wet clothes, before you get pneumonia. Regina, give him the ones in the chest that you have." She knew the girl would know which ones she meant.

Regina gave her an incredulous look, then went to a small chest against the wall, beautifully carved with flying hawks, trees, wolves, and a howling wind, and opened it. The smell of cedar hit her nostrils and she removed two items from the chest. They were a pair of butter soft deerskin leggings and a blue chambray shirt, sewn lovingly by her own hands.

"Here," she handed the items to him. "You can wear these."

"Thanks," he said, and then took another towel that Belle handed him.

"You can go in there to change," Belle pointed to a small necessary off the main room.

Bae hurried inside to get changed, wondering where the clothes had come from, since Regina had said she had no brothers or papa. Then he quickly stripped off his wet things and pulled on the soft breeches and shirt, thinking they were well made clothes, as good as any his papa had made as a spinner.

He emerged with his wet clothing in his hands, and Regina took them to hang by the fire to dry. "Would you like something to drink? Some tea?"

Bae nodded then glanced back at his papa sleeping on the sofa. "Will he be all right, Mistress Winters?"

"I believe so," Belle replied. "When he wakes I shall give him some medicine for the pain and swelling. What were you doing out in such weather?"

"Uh, trying to find someplace to sleep," Bae replied diffidently. "We . . .err . . . got lost."

"Were you heading to Storybrooke, then?" asked Regina. "That's the town yonder."

Bae was puzzled. "Uh . . .yeah I suppose so. But . . .don't you live in town too?"

"No, we are just . . .outside of it," Belle answered matter-of-factly, not bothering to mention the reason, because she and her child were not welcome in it. She began boiling a kettle of water and preparing some tea.

Bae sat on the end of another sofa and sipped the hot tea he was given, grateful the two women asked no more awkward questions about where he had come from since he didn't have any answers for them. How could he explain that? He realized suddenly he should have planned this better, not rushed into it headlong, and that perhaps he should have thought about what might happen on the other side of that portal, instead of assuming the fairy had his best interests at heart. He certainly hadn't expected to end up in a raging blizzard! Or with his father injured so badly.

As the tea penetrated his chilled body, warming it from the inside out, he thought sleepily that he really hadn't expected anything once he'd dragged an unwilling Rumple through the portal except breaking his papa's curse. That at least had happened, he thought, and hid a yawn. "Sorry . . .sleepy."

"You can sleep on the small settle," Belle said, and motioned for her daughter to get more blankets.

Regina did so, then remarked, "You and your papa must have come a long way, from the looks of you."

"Uh, yeah we have," Bae nodded, thinking they would never believe how far.

"For the hot springs Storybrooke was built around? For your papa's leg?" the girl went on. "It's all anybody would ever come to this place in the middle of nowhere for." Her tone was slightly bitter.

"Regina, don't bother our guest," Belle reproved quietly. "He's all done in."

But Bae was grateful for the girl's curiosity, since it provided him with answers he didn't otherwise have at the moment.

Soon he was nodding over his cup and Belle took it away and gently ushered him to the couch. "Now you just have yourself a good rest and don't worry about your papa."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered and curled up on the couch, amused when the older woman tucked the blankets around him. _Guess this is what it must be like to have a mama._ In seconds he was asleep.

Regina stared at the two unexpected guest, arrived two days before Christmas, and muttered, "Mama, what are we gonna do? If folks find out about them . . .they'll talk. Two strange men in a house with only us."

Belle shook her head. "What were we to do? Leave them to freeze? Besides, what have I told you before about the folks around here, Regina?"

"Folks will use any excuse to talk bad about someone else, no matter what's right or what's the truth," the girl recited. Then she added angrily, "But they already talk bad about you, Mama. And me too, because of what I am." She glanced worriedly at the couch where the boy and the man slept. "Mama, what if they find out about us? About what happened and all? They'll be just like all the others, calling us filthy savages and worse!"

Belle put a hand on her shoulder. "People are ignorant, Regina. And ignorance breeds intolerance and ugliness. It always has. I would hope, however, since it's Christmas, that these two will be so grateful for our hospitality, they will overlook our pasts, unlike the good people of Storybrooke." There was a faint note of disparagement in her voice as she said that last.

"They should," Regina said softly. "Mama, where do you think they come from?" she brushed the skirt of her red dress and pointed at Bae's clothing drying on the hearth. "His clothes . . .aren't like our own, or even those of the Indians around here. They're like . . .almost like those in the old storybook you read to me. Look."

She ran and pulled down a worn copy of a book of fairy tales and opened it to an illustration. "See? The boy was dressed just like this one." She pointed to a boy in the story.

Belle examined the illustration with practiced eyes, for she had been a librarian back in Boston, traveling here to this remote Maine town built upon some hot springs before the incident that had changed her life forever occurred.

"You're right, Regina. And I noticed that the man also is wearing similar garb." She gently closed the book. "I fear it's a mystery we must wait to solve, darling. Now it's time for bed, we have to get up early to bake the cookies and make the gingerbread cake for Christmas Eve."

"And what else shall we be having?" the girl asked. "Chicken soup? Bread and butter?"

"If that's all we have, then we shall be grateful for it. If our Lord can be born in a stable then we can have bread and butter and soup for Christmas dinner." Belle said firmly.

"I could Call a duck or something," Regina argued.

"No. Remember, we promised Mayor Spencer no magic," Belle reminded her.

"Mr. Spencer is a hypocrite and a fool!" Regina burst out. "He can't even tell the difference between good magic and witch's magic!"

"Nevertheless, we made an agreement and we must keep it," Belle said softly. "Now let's go to bed, my dear. We have a busy day tomorrow."

Together, mother and daughter entered their rooms on the south side of the house, after Belle had banked the fire for the night, pulled the latch, and dimmed the lamps in case their guests needed to use the necessary during the night.

Outside the snow fell and covered the land with a blanket of icy white and frosting the trees with a glittering cloak. In the distance a lone star glowed through the darkness, shining so lost travelers could find their way to a safe haven, the same star that had guided three kings to a baby in a manger.

**A/N: I felt we needed some Christmas cheer after the whole S4 debacle, which I quit watching after the fourth episode. So disappointing! And in my stories I am basically ignoring that whole season, it doesn't exist for me. This story takes place in 1835, in frontier Maine, and will feature a different Belle and Regina and former Dark One/spinner Rumple and Bae. Hope you all like! This will be about three or four chapters. Happy holidays!**


	2. Christmas Traditions

**2**

**Christmas Traditions**

Regina woke before her mother for the first time since they had moved into this cabin on the outskirts of town . . .a cabin bequeathed to them by a rich trapper whose life Belle had saved back when she was still accepted in Storybrooke—before they had discovered that despite her "reintegration" Belle did not and would not harbor any ill will towards those who had held her captive for five years, and indeed practiced the skills she had learned from the Mesquakie medicine woman Willow Heart. Once that had been found out, as well as another pointed detail about her daughter, the people had cast them out, saying they could live beside but not among them.

On the few times she did venture into town with her mother to get supplies they couldn't make or grow themselves, Regina always stuck close to Belle, distrusting the townsfolk to ever have her best interests or any fellow feeling like was preached in the Good Book towards her or her mother. She remembered asking Belle once after some nasty brats had teased her and called her a half-breed bastard why the citizens of Storybrooke, supposedly God fearing, didn't follow the teachings of their holy man and book. And Belle had replied that fear breeds ignorance, and ignorant was what many of Storybrooke's townsfolk were. "They don't understand because they don't wish to understand. Ignorance is bliss, and it's easier to hate the different than it is to embrace it and cherish the things which make us unique."

Regina thought her mama was the wisest and smartest woman in all of New England and maybe even the whole United States. And she was pretty as well, though among those she had once called her people, it was a person's heart which made them beautiful, and their deeds, not their looks. But in Storybrooke, it seemed the opposite held true, though it didn't seem to matter if her mama or she had pretty faces once the white folks found out about what they were.

Regina pulled on her sheepskin coat to go out and feed the chickens and gather the eggs and milk their cow, Bossy. As she stepped out onto the porch, she saw a large turkey hung by a rawhide thing over the porch rail, plucked and ready for roasting and stuffing. Beside it was a small feather with a tiny silver horseshoe on it.

Regina groaned. _Aww, Running Horse! Tis fine turkey but you've got to stop doing this, my friend!_

She went to remove the turkey from the railing, thinking it was a good sized bird, probably twenty pounds. She knew she really shouldn't accept it, but she wanted a nice Christmas dinner and Belle would be so happy they actually had a decent meal to feed Mr. Gold and his son. Regina untied the bird and brought it inside, knowing it had probably been shot fresh this morning. She left the token where it was.

Accepting that would be a mistake, since it meant she accepted Horse's courtship as well, and that was impossible. She could never allow the brave to court her, since she didn't love him, and unless she wished to run off and become a Fox Indian, known as Mesquakie, forever, and abandon Belle, her options were very limited.

Then she stamped back out into the snow to gather the eggs and milk the cow in the small barn, clinging to a sturdy rawhide string tied to the back porch railing through the deep snow to the barn. She yanked open the barn door and inhaled the familiar scents of hay, oats, carrots, and chicken and cow manure.

She wrinkled her nose a bit, then grabbed a woven basket beside the door and began to gather the eggs from the hens that were sitting on nests inside it. Some of the hens were clever and hid from her, requiring her to go on small hunts to get the dozen eggs from their chickens.

She turned to attend to the cow once her basket was full of eggs and instead heard the familiar swish swish of milk squirting into the pail and saw the lanky boy who was their unexpected guest sitting on a stool competently milking Bossy.

Regina gaped. For Bossy, so named because she liked to be the boss, was standing calmly when she gave both Regina and Belle a hard time and fussed and knocked over the pail or stepped on their feet when they milked her on occasion.

Bae glanced up, feeling eyes on his back. "Hey. I figured you could use some help." His hands continued milking as he smiled genially at the girl holding the basket, her dark hair hanging down her back like a cloak of ebony velvet.

"You know how to milk a cow?" Regina blurted, then could have kicked herself.

"I've milked cows and goats," Bae replied cheerfully while Bossy chewed her cud.

"Bossy's got a temper and is difficult," Regina told him matter-of-factly. "She usually kicks over the pail or sometimes me or Mama."

Bae nodded and stroked the brown cow's flank. "Used to milk cows for my neighbor and she taught me a trick to keep a cow occupied. Give them a treat of alfalfa or clover. Works every time." He jerked his head at Bossy, who was happily munching.

"That's really clever," Regina admitted, impressed in spite of herself. This was the first white boy she'd met that hadn't looked at her with pity or sneered at her for being half-Mesquakie, even though that half had been a chief's daughter. Though even that had been easier to take than what they had said and done when they found out she was also a shaman's apprentice and could do magic—true magic and not the false kind the whites called magic, also known as sleight of hand. _And if he knew, he would be like all the rest—call you evil witch and drive you away. _She clutched the basket of eggs tighter. Only Belle's intervention had saved her, though at the price of her own exile as well. Regina knew there was no way she could repay the debt she owed the other woman, except one—by being the best daughter she could to the woman who had once been her father's captive and later on his wife for a mere two hours before a soldier's gun had made her a widow.

Those same soldiers had produced a treaty that stated the Great White Father in Washington demanded the return of all white captives and part white ones as well, and her father refused to give up his wife and daughter, resulting in his death—and then she and Belle had been taken anyway, back to where they belonged according to the government, except the world to which they supposedly belonged would never accept them, Regina thought angrily.

_And they call me an ignorant savage!_ She glared at Bae's back, thinking that thanks to her Boston educated mother, she could probably teach those snippy Storybrooke maidens and their sneering beaus a thing or two about literature and mathematics as well as being able to stalk quieter than the wind and identify every wild plant that grew in the area and use it as well as fish and call fire to her hand and a bird from a tree with a single whispered Name.

Bae felt the heat of the girl's gaze and turned around again. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked, puzzled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Regina shook her head abruptly. "I'm not. I mean . . .it's not you I'm mad at. It's the other folks in Storybrooke. They're the reason Mama and I are outcasts and can't have a merry Christmas."

"Why can't you? Have a merry Christmas, I mean?" Bae queried. He wanted badly to ask why these two women were outcasts, but he didn't want to pry into their personal business, it wasn't polite. And Rumple had drilled manners into his son before he could walk, by endless firm repetition.

Regina sighed and leaned against the wooden partition. "I guess we could . . . but it's lonely, with just the two of us to bake and sing carols and cook a nice dinner. Except . . .you're here now so . . ."

"If we're intruding, my papa and I will go as soon as he's able to travel," Bae began.

"No! I . . .I didn't mean that . . ." Regina stammered, suddenly realizing she didn't want this stranger to leave at all. "My mama would be glad to have you for supper."

"How about you?" Bae asked, somewhat challengingly.

"Me too, Bae," Regina added, then she looked at her feet awkwardly. She felt bold, inviting a boy she had only just met for supper this way. She probably should have asked Belle first. She wondered if that made her a tramp like the boys in Storybrooke claimed she was.

Blushing, she whispered, "I need to get these eggs back to Mama for the ginger cake," then she fled back to the house, leaving Bae wondering what he'd done to make her run from him like he was the Dark One himself.

Inside the cottage, Belle had gotten up and dressed swiftly in her workday blue dress with brown piping on the bodice and a white shift underneath it with gathered sleeves, simple garments but made with loving touches by her talented daughter, for Regina sewed better than Belle, who could sew skin easier than she could cloth.

She then went to stir up the fire and check upon her sleeping house guests, only to find that both were awake and she almost banged right into Rumple as he limped back from the necessary. "Oh! You're awake! I'm so sorry!"

Rumple quirked an eyebrow at her and said, "I'm the one who ought to be sorry, dearie. For wandering about your house like I own it. My son Bae told me where your . . .err . . .outhouse was before he went to help out with some chores."

"Oh, so that's where . . .then he must be with Regina, my daughter," Belle said, and that was one mystery solved. She held out a hand belatedly. "I'm Belle Winters, Mr. Gold."

"Pleased to meet you, mistress," Rumple said politely, and took her hand and bowed over it as was proper where he'd come from. "I'm Rum . . .err . . .Gold."

"Rum?" she eyed him askance. "Is that a nickname or was one of your parents in love with the drink?" An instant later she realized what her runaway tongue had said, and clamped a hand over her mouth in mortification.

"My papa was," Rumple chuckled. "And yes, it is, but I'm not telling you my full name, since I . . .prefer not to use it unless I have to," he improvised swiftly. He liked this woman's frankness. It was refreshing. "Bae says you and your daughter live here alone, is that so?"

"Yes. I'm a widow, you see."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Yes, thank you. I am too. But it's been nearly a year since my husband died, so I have put off mourning," she explained, not bothering to tell him that in the Mesquakie tradition, which she had been married in, there was no wearing black for mourning, only shorn hair and ashes on one's face for certain period, and besides, no white folks she knew would even acknowledge her marriage to Winter Storm. _And you were only his wife for two hours, you barely made it through the wedding ceremony and the feast before your world was shattered by a bullet and some court order. You were both bride and widow all in one day, though no one in the church regards you as such, and say it was not a true marriage, and yet some believe despite that you were his mistress also. They will never believe the truth, that Winter Storm—Adam as he was called among the English—never dishonored me ever, even when I was his captive. It's enough for those judgmental harpies that I allowed a filthy savage to touch me, much less admit that I loved him!_

Then she buried the memories and reminded herself that this man was not like the others in Storybrooke, and moreover, he had been injured and was in need of her care.

"Forgive me, Mr. Gold. You must be in some pain after striking your head that way. Do you need any assistance back to the couch, sir?" she asked softly, her blue eyes bright with concern.

"No, I . . .I can manage," he coughed awkwardly. "My leg is stiff but I've had worse," he grimaced as he made his way to the sofa again and sat down gingerly. He was bruised in a few unmentionable places by that fall, and without his magic was just an ordinary spinner again.

"Did your son tell you that I'm a . . .wise woman?" Belle queried, almost saying "medicine woman" as she had been trained by one before recalling that revealing too much about her past might shock and disgust her houseguest. "I bound your head and I can give you a tincture of laudanum for the pain and a snow pack also for the swelling. You're lucky, Mr. Gold. A few more inches down and you might have never woken again in this world."

"Even fools deserve a little luck now and then," Rumple chuckled softly. He touched his bandaged head. "And a wee bit of a potion wouldn't come amiss right now, Mrs. Winters." Indeed his head was now throbbing like an anvil and he gritted his teeth.

Belle saw the lines of pain about his mouth and in his eyes and she hurried to her apothecary chest in her stillroom and unlocked it with the key she carried about her neck. She found the laudanum in a green glass flask and carefully measured three drops in a small glass of water and stirred it.

Then, after locking the cabinet, she went and gathered some snow in one of her kerchiefs and tied it. She brought both items back to where Mr. Gold was sitting.

"Thank you, dearie," he said, taking the glass and downing the contents swiftly. He made a face.

"Sorry, I know that's bitter. Would you like some tea? Chicken broth?" Belle asked, handing him the ice pack. Their hands brushed slightly and she was shocked to feel an unusual heat flow through her at his touch. _Get your head out of the clouds, Belle! He'd be running off down the road if he knew what you really were—an Indian captive and a red man's squaw. _"Is your stomach upset?"

"A little," he allowed, putting the snow pack on the back of his head. As the snow numbed his injury, Rumple said, "I must thank you for your kindness in taking me and my son in, Mrs. Winters. If not for you, we would have frozen out there."

"It was the least I could do. After all it's Christmas, the season of giving and hope. And goodwill towards man."

"I see." Rumple nodded, though he was unsure just what kind of holiday this Christmas was, and wished he dared ask more about it. He saw the tree in the corner, and said, "What an interesting decoration, dearie."

Belle smiled. "It is rather pretty, isn't it? Even though it's pitiful compared to the big decorated trees in the town square in Boston where I originally come from, and even Storybrooke. But then, we're just apothecaries here."

"Well, I think it's lovely," Rumple asserted.

"Thank you," Belle blushed, and then hurried to get him a cup of tea and some broth she had bubbling on the stove.

She returned and had given Mr. Gold both mugs just as Regina came in with her basket of eggs and a turkey in one hand.

"Regina! Where did you get a turkey?" Belle exclaimed.

"It was left on the porch, Mama," Regina replied. "By a—mysterious benefactor," she added, knowing that her mother would understand her reference. "Now we can have a nice Christmas dinner after all."

"Bring it in the kitchen and I'll start making the stuffing and cranberry relish," Belle instructed, having preserved cranberries just in case for this very occasion. "Oh, and meet Mr. Gold. Mr. Gold, this is my daughter, Regina."

Regina managed a pretty fair curtsey with her hands full of turkey. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Welcome to our home. Mama, Mr. Gold and Bae can stay for Christmas, right?"

"Of course, you silly goose!" Belle laughed. "As if I would turn a guest out of my home on Christmas day!"

"Today is Christmas?" Rumple repeated.

"Actually, today is Christmas Eve," Belle corrected. "But some celebrate it as well. And we can too."

Bae entered with the pail of milk soon after Regina had gone into the kitchen to put the turkey in a pan and set it in the cellar to keep cool.

Belle took it from him and said, "Pour yourself a cup of tea, it's raw out there today with the temperature dropping like it is. I'll make breakfast in a moment."

Bae went and sat down at the kitchen table, and saw the fine tea service on it, white with a pretty blue willow and gold rims and said, "This is really something."

"That was a gift from an old friend whose life I saved when he was sick from an infected animal bite." Belle told him. "This cabin and that tea service were to thank me."

"Was he a rich gentleman?" asked Bae, stirring some honey into his tea.

"No, but he was a rich trapper, trapped beaver and other furs," Belle explained. "And he had no next of kin, so when he died some years later he bequeathed what he had to me and my daughter."

Which had been a lucky thing since otherwise Belle and Regina would have been living in a lean to in the woods or a cave.

"His name was Lumiere Jardin," Belle continued as she mixed batter in a bowl for flapjacks. "He came from France, or at least his relatives did. His papa fought with Lafayette and Washington in the revolution that freed us from Britain, or so he always said. This service was one of his family heirlooms."

"So be careful you don't break it," Regina warned.

"I won't. I'm very careful with fragile things," Bae said, giving her a pointed glance.

The girl sniffed. "I'm hardly fragile, Baelfire. I can hunt and fish and track as well as any boy. And ride a horse too." Then she bit her lip, for she knew such pursuits weren't considered ladylike, or so her tutors had always told her when she had gotten "re-educated" into normal American society again. "And sew!" she added defiantly.

"That's good," Bae said approvingly. "A girl needs to be able to do more than walk along in a dress and preen herself in a mirror out here."

Regina's mouth dropped open. So did Belle's.

"Then . . . you don't mind that I can . . .do what I told you?" the dark-haired girl stammered.

"Why would I mind? Those are the skills you need to keep alive," he replied.

"Then you're smarter than half the boys in Storybrooke!" Regina declared and for the first time she gave him a true smile. It felt wonderful to be accepted like this. Though she wondered how long it would last.

Belle finished making the flapjacks while Regina scrambled up some eggs and fried venison sausage she had made from a deer Horse had given her a few months ago, and the sausage was almost the only meat they had any more.

The scent of meat frying made Rumple's stomach rumble hungrily, and he set down the almost melted snow pack in the empty cup and walked slowly into the kitchen, his mouth watering. "Might I join you ladies? Or am I banished to the couch as an invalid?" he teased, his brown eyes crinkling.

"Mr. Gold! I didn't hear you come in," Belle cried, and almost dropped the frying pan on the floor at his unexpected appearance. "Please, sit down and have some tea. Breakfast is ready, if you think your stomach can handle it."

He nodded. "My stomach has assured me, Mrs. Winters, that it is very eager to handle whatever you have just cooked that smells so divine."

"It's just eggs, flapjacks, and venison sausage," Belle said, carrying the plate of eggs and pancakes to the table. "Regina, get the syrup."

After Regina had placed the clever syrup holder, which looked like a woman holding a pitcher, on the table, everyone dove into the pancakes, drowning them in maple syrup and then eating the scrambled eggs and sausage.

Rumple ate sparingly, for even though he was hungry, he knew head wounds often could make one's stomach play tricks and he didn't want to get sick after this lovely meal. So he took only two pancakes, a small amount of eggs, and two sausages. He also had some tea with honey.

"This is wonderful, dearie," he told Belle.

"I'm lucky my friend Willow taught me to cook as well as to doctor people," Belle said. "Because before I moved from Boston, I could just about make tea and soup. I was a volunteer librarian, and lived with my aging father and we had a cook, Mrs. Potts, who made all our meals for us."

"I taught you how to make corn cakes and pemmican," Regina reminded her.

"True," Belle admitted.

"What's pemmican?" Bae wanted to know.

"Food that a Mesquakie warrior eats while on a hunt, or during the winter if the hunting isn't going well," Regina told him. "It's dried venison jerky mixed with dried fruit, like cranberries, and hot venison fat. When it hardens you can take it with you and it travels well and is very good for you to eat. It lasts a long time."

"That sounds a lot better than the dried beef we ate once, Papa. It was like eating shoe leather," Bae grimaced, and helped himself to a fourth pancake and another sausage.

"That's because you've never had to eat shoe leather, lad," Rumple snorted.

Regina eyed the older Gold. "Have you, Mr. Gold?"

"Once, when I was but a wee lad and my papa lost all our money gambling in the bar," he answered honestly. "And after that, no real food tasted bad."

"How awful!" Belle said sympathetically.

"Well, yes, it was. Which is why I made sure never to have my son go hungry or cold." Rumple said quietly.

"What do you do, Mr. Gold?"

"I'm a spinner and a weaver by trade," he replied, for so he had been once, and it appeared he would be so again, since his magic was lost to him.

"Papa can weave the softest cloth and spin the finest thread," Bae boasted. "And some people say that he could spin straw into gold if he tried!"

Rumple coughed sharply and gave Bae a warning Look. _Baelfire, watch what you say!_ He groaned inwardly. "My son exaggerates a wee bit. But I am a master spinner . . .or was until I served a stint in the army and got this as a result," he tapped his lame leg. It was true.

"Were you shot by a minie ball?" Belle asked kindly.

Rumple shook his head. "No. A hammer crushed my ankle." That was also true.

"That's dreadful!" Regina cried. "And the doctors couldn't fix it?"

"No. They said I would be lame for the rest of my life, and I was lucky I didn't need it removed," Rumple said honestly. "So in a way I ought to be grateful for small favors."

"It's too bad you didn't have my mama and Willow there to patch you up. I'm sure they could have fixed your leg so you could walk on it," said Regina loyally.

"Regina, I can't fix everything," Belle chuckled. "It all depended on how bad the break was."

"But Papa can still spin the finest thread anywhere," Bae asserted. "And make clothes."

"And this is why you were heading to Storybrooke, Mr. Gold?" Belle asked then. "To see if the hot springs could offer you some relief, or a cure?"

Rumple swallowed hard and nearly choked on his pancake. "Err . . umm . . ." he took a quick gulp of tea and almost burned his tongue as he thought quickly. " . . .of course. I've heard some marvelous things about them, though I fear I shall always walk with a cane."

"There are worse things," Belle said practically. "In Boston there were several veterans of the War for Independence that had one leg or no legs and the same with an arm."

"Yes, of course," the spinner agreed, for she was correct. But hearing about these hot springs made him have something he'd thought he'd lost years ago, when he'd staggered through the door of his cottage to greet his baby son and wife only to find Milah hated him for his decision to come home rather than to die, and that something was hope. So he asked diffidently, "Do—do you know if these hot springs are . . .available all the time to someone or do you have to make an appointment or something to use them?"

Belle thought for a moment. "Uh . . .I know they are open to the public every Monday and Friday, and today is Wednesday, so the next day is after Christmas, on Friday. We could go into Storybrooke then if you'd like, Mr. Gold."

"I would, just for one time, to see if it worked. Even a little."

Belle saw the hope shining in his eyes and though she usually avoided the town like the plague, she found she couldn't bear to see it die. She sensed instinctively that this man had had very little hope in his life, and she knew well what that was like, since after her return to the white world, she also had lost hope of ever fitting in and being accepted, since somehow her love for a Mesquakie war chief had tainted her. "Then we shall plan a trip this Friday. Perhaps a Christmas miracle might take place and your leg improve."

"I shall pray that's the case," Rumple said sincerely. Then he added, "And please, if you would, call me Rum. You needn't stand on formality after you've saved my life and my son's, Mrs. Winters."

Belle felt her cheeks pinken slightly. "Well, it really isn't proper, but . . ."

"Oh, hang proper, Mama!" Regina burst out. "What did proper ever get either of us anyhow except sneered at and all?"

"Regina!" Belle cried, though she wasn't shocked at her daughter's outburst. The child was frustrated and angry over her treatment by the townsfolk of Storybrooke and sometimes her emotions boiled over.

"Well, it's true," her daughter said stubbornly. "And besides, it's only us here, and I don't care about society's rules as much as being comfortable. And if it makes Mr. Gold comfortable for you to call him Rum then you ought to do it."

"Please?" Rumple said, and gave her puppy dog eyes.

Belle felt her heart start to melt like ice cream in the hot sun, slowly congealing into a sticky puddle within her chest. "I . . .I . . . all right, you win!" she conceded gracefully. Then she leveled a mock stern glare at Regina. "However, for that rather insolent remark, you have clean up duty after breakfast, young lady."

"Aww!" Regina mock-groaned.

"I'll help," Bae offered.

"You think I can't wash dishes?" the girl demanded tartly.

"No, I think my papa taught me manners and that means I help you clean up," Bae retorted, thinking that heavens the girl was prickly.

Regina huffed, then decided she'd rather have help then have her pride and said, "Well, there's the wash tub. Let's get started. Quickest begun is quickest done."

"Anybody ever tell you're prickly as a hedgehog?" Bae asked, carrying his plate and Rumple's to the washtub.

"You're comparing me to a hedgehog?" Regina snapped.

"Yeah. Every time someone tries to help you, you curl up in a ball so's people think you're all prickles, and don't need anyone, cause you're afraid of going soft."

"I'm not afraid of anything!"

"Except getting help washing dishes," he snickered.

"Oh hush up, you!" Regina grunted, and splashed him.

Bae splashed her back and suddenly their quarrel was forgotten as two dark heads bent over the washtub and scrubbed the dishes.

Belle gazed at them and turned to Rumple and said, "He's very patient with her. And he makes her smile. It's been a long time since that's happened."

"Bae's always been a calm sort," Rumple said with his own touch of pride. "Not much ruffles him." _Except for me, when I was the Dark One._

"He seems an awful lot like you," Belle remarked.

"More like me than his mama," Rumple answered.

"What happened to her? Did she pass on?" Belle asked before she could stop herself.

Rumple shook his head. "That's what I told Bae because he was too little to understand my wife ran off with another man, a pirate captain named Jones, because she wanted a life of adventure and glory and she didn't love me enough to stay with me. I wasn't . . .exciting enough for her."

"I'm sorry, Rum. She sounds like a prize idiot! Any woman who leaves a hardworking man and her child for some rogue is."

Rumple lowered his eyes and fixed them on his cup. If Belle knew the whole story he doubted she'd be so understanding. But he couldn't bear for her to know what a coward he had been—and still was, unable to admit to his shortcomings. But he wanted a fresh start, and a life free of his dark past.

A second later he winced and muttered, "Maybe I should lie down," for his head was now throbbing again.

"Yes, I did think you might have gotten up too soon, Mr. Gold—Rum," she corrected.

He levered himself to his feet and went back to the couch to take a nap.

In sleep at least he could dream this new life would be better than the old one.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

While Rumple slept, Belle was busy, along with Regina, making chestnut cranberry stuffing, cranberry relish and glazed carrots for dinner for tomorrow. Tonight they would have something simple, like vegetable soup and bread. She also made the ginger cake and sugar cookies with Regina.

"And we can't forget to leave some milk and cookies for Santa Claus," her daughter reminded her. Santa Claus was one of the Christmas traditions she really liked.

"Milk and cookies?" Bae repeated.

"Yeah, to show him that we're glad he's come to the house," Regina said. "Why? Don't you do that where you're from?"

"Umm . . . no," Bae admitted.

"Not everyone has the same customs on Christmas, dear," Belle pointed out. And until a year ago, Regina hadn't even known what Christmas was all about, as the Indians didn't celebrate it.

"Well, we do, and then he leaves us presents in our stockings," she indicated the stockings hung up on the mantle.

"Presents?"

"Uh huh. Like candy or a book or a toy if you're small. But you have to be good otherwise he passes by your house and leaves you nothing but an empty sock or one with a lump of coal."

Bae's eyes widened. "How does he know?"

"He watches you through a magic seeing globe."

"Oh." He thought this Santa person reminded him a little of the Lord of Yule back in his old land.

"Why don't you put your stockings up there, Bae?" suggested Regina. "You and your papa deserve some holiday cheer from Santa."

"He won't mind?"

"Only if you've been naughty," she teased, her dark eyes sparkling.

"I haven't. Well, not lately," he admitted. He pulled his stocking from the rack where it had been drying and Regina handed him a nail so he could put it on the mantle. Bae hung one for Rumple too, then hoped that this mysterious being wouldn't judge Rumple for being the Dark One and pass over him or leave him coal. He almost took it down, then changed his mind and decided if the worst happened, he'd get up before everyone, look, and put some of whatever he got in his papa's stocking.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

After supper that night, they all gathered in front of the fire, and Belle put the nativity scene on the mantle in place of the clock, moving it to another location, and told the story of the Holy Family, the Star of Bethlehem, and the Three Wise Men as she placed each of the wooden figures. Regina smothered a small yawn, as she knew this story by heart, but Rumple and Bae were riveted and listened intently as Belle told them about Mary, Joseph, and there being no room at the inn, so Mary had to give birth in the stable to Jesus, who would grow up to be the savior of all mankind.

Rumple was rather awed at the story, which Belle said was the reason for Christmas, and felt that maybe he needn't feel ashamed of being only a spinner and poor after all. For though there were tales of commoners being raised to high estates in his land, such things didn't last. A prince might dance with the prettiest maid at the ball, even if she was a commoner, but once he'd taken her to bed, he wouldn't marry her, or if he did, as soon as another pretty face caught his eye, he'd cast her off. A king might adopt or take in a poor man's son as his own because his wife was barren, but if he married a new woman and then she had a child, the adopted son would be cast out or done away with. Then too there was himself, a coward spinner who had taken the power of a dagger and become the most feared sorcerer in the realms—the opposite of this Jesus.

Now, of course, his curse was broken, but even so, Rumple wondered if the taint still lingered.

Belle had stressed that forgiveness, according to the teaching of their holy book, was possible for everyone, but Rumple had his doubts.

Yet he kept silent about them for now, and once they had all had a cup of tea and some gingerbread cake, encouraged Bae along with Regina to go to sleep so St. Nicholas, who was the patron saint of children and the mysterious being who left presents for good ones, would come and visit their house.

When the children were both sound asleep, Rumple saw Belle eat one of the sugar cookies she had placed upon the table and drink some of the milk left for Santa and he gasped. "But isn't that for . . .?"

"It is. But Rumple, it's symbolic, remember? Santa Claus is a legend, and he can't really visit us, but we don't want to take hope away from the children, and it doesn't hurt to have them believe in magic and the spirit of youth for a while longer," she explained.

Rumple was flabbergasted. Was she saying that magic wasn't real? He opened his mouth to refute her and then closed it again, recalling that Bae had called this A Land Without Magic. "If you say so, dearie." But he was confused.

"Here, have a cookie," she handed him one and also the half finished glass of milk.

As he ate, Rumple watched Belle fill the stockings with an orange, a stick of peppermint, an apple, and for Regina, a little red apple pendant. She stuffed Rumple's and Bae's stockings with books from her own personal collection, then turned around with a mischievous grin and said, "See? Santa has arrived."

"Has he? And what gift has he left for you?" queried the spinner shrewdly.

Belle shrugged. "Being here with Regina and celebrating the season with you is my gift."

Rumple nodded quietly, but thought that she deserved more, so after she had bid him goodnight, went to her workbasket and found some soft yarn dyed a bright cobalt and picked up the two knitting needles inside the basket. He might not have magic now, but he did still possess the skill of his hands, and he began to knit furiously, hoping that he would be able to finish this gift for the woman who had been kind enough to save his life and his son's before the dawn. He only wished it were more.

There wasn't enough yarn to do what he would have liked for her, but he could manage one respectable gift, and as snow fell once again, which was typical of a Maine winter, Rumple's needles click-clacked in accompaniment to the skirling wind and the crackle of the fire in the grate.

Hours passed until finally the spinner set aside the needles and tied off what he had made. He placed the needles back in the basket and tucked his gift inside of Belle's stocking with an impish grin. "Now Santa has come for you too, Belle," he whispered to the statues on the mantle. "Or rather a former imp named Rumplestiltskin."

And he gave a small giggle of delight.

Then he went to bank the fire and to sleep for a few short hours, before the dawn. And as he was about to turn and lie down on the couch, he thought, for one insane moment, that the carved wooden baby in the manger winked at him.

_Don't be ridiculous, Rumple! You're imagining things! This is the Land Without Magic, after all. _

Feeling very satisfied and happy, he lay down and pulled the blankets up to his chin, smiling as he imagined Belle's face on Christmas morning when she found a gift inside her stocking after all. Then his eyes closed and he slept, while the fire died to embers and the North Star shone in through the window, its light touching the top of the manger and making it glow with celestial fire, and then shedding it gently over the sleeping former Dark One in a loving benediction.

** A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews and for reading this story. They are like gifts to me and hope you like this new installment!**


	3. Christmas Morning

**3**

**Christmas Morning**

Bae woke a little after the sun rose and tiptoed across the floor to peek and see if this Santa Claus had come and left presents for everyone in their stockings. To his relief, he saw that Rumple's stocking was stuffed full, but fearing what was in it, peeked inside and saw the orange and the large book in its depths. Smiling, Bae slipped back to the couch and curled up again with the blanket to his chin, to sleep until he was woken again by the mouthwatering smell of cinnamon rolls, sausage and coffee.

He went into the small necessary off the kitchen to wash up and found his father already in there, using a razor and some kind of foaming soap to shave with. Bae watched his father shave with something akin to envy and said, "Papa, may I try?"

Rumple gave him an amused glance. "Lad, you hardly have anything to shave yet. Do you want to cut yourself?"

Bae sighed. "No . . .but . . .when am I gonna start growing a beard and stuff?"

"When you're ready, son. You're fourteen, give it time." Rumple patted his face dry with the towel. He began to pull on a set of clothes Belle had provided him with after he had taken a bath in the wooden tub. They were a soft crimson shirt and deerskin fringed trousers.

Bae gave him an approving glance. "Those look nice on you, Papa."

"Glad you approve," Rumple smirked. "Now go and wash up, Bae. We need to be clean and presentable for this Christmas celebration. You can take a bath too, since the water's clean and Belle warmed it over the stove."

"Papa, it's winter," Bae muttered.

Rumple gave him a pointed look. "What's that got to do with being clean?"

"Umm . . .I might catch my death with wet hair."

"Not if you wait till it's dry to go outside. Now take a bath, son. Or do you need me to assist you?" he mock-growled.

"What? No! I'm not four, Papa!" his son yelped in horror.

"Then quit grousing like one and get yourself clean," Rumple ordered, then he departed after making sure Bae had a towel to dry off with.

When Rumple emerged from the necessary, leaning on his stick, his floofy hair sticking up slightly from his rough drying of it, Belle was just sliding the pan of cinnamon rolls from the oven. She almost let the pan tilt and the rolls fall out onto the floor when she caught sight of her houseguest all cleaned up. Her heart suddenly leaped into her throat and she bit back a delighted gasp. "Mr. Gold! You look very . . . dashing in those clothes. Lumiere would approve."

"Glad to hear that, dearie, since they were his clothes," Rumple said with a small giggle of nervousness. He was actually glad Belle had been kind enough to lend him these clothes, since his old ones needed to be washed.

She blushed and straightened enough so the rolls stayed in the pan. She had no idea that her slight and rather mild-mannered and humble guest would clean up so fine. She knew that most women wouldn't have given the spinner a second glance since he was skinny and slight of build and walked with a cane, but there was something about him that drew her eye. He wasn't conventionally handsome—with blond hair and blue eyes, or dark hair and green eyes-but his soft flyaway hair that hung in his eyes, which were a deep brown, like chestnuts just roasted on the fire, and his mobile mouth drew her like a moth to a flame.

It unnerved her a bit, for she had only felt that kind of desire for one man—her husband Winter Storm, who had chosen the name Adam for his English one, since it was easier for the English trappers and traders to pronounce than his Indian one. Winter Storm had been thirty-seven to her twenty-seven and she suspected Mr. Gold was in his late forties or thereabouts, not all that old, for a man. But, like Storm, she sensed that Mr. Gold had a good heart and among her adopted people it was that which counted more than looks.

_Oh admit it! You like him for how he looks AND his heart and his quiet manner, Belle!_ Her conscience reproved. He was also one of the very few white men who didn't look at her with scorn or pity or heaven forbid, lust when they saw her in town. Though she wondered if that would change should he find out about her past as a squaw? And Regina's as well?

But she wouldn't worry about that now. _Sufficient to the day are the problems thereof,_ she reminded herself and today was Christmas. As Mr. Gold limped to the table, Bellle said, "Won't you have a cup of coffee, Rum, and a cinnamon bun?"

"Is that what I've been smelling for the past half an hour, dearie?" he asked, twitching his nose.

"It is."

"Then I would be delighted to have one," he replied, his eyes twinkling irresistibly.

As Belle served Rumple some breakfast, Bae came out of the bathing room, his hair damp but clean as well. Regina suddenly appeared in the doorway, her cheeks flushed slightly, her dark eyes glowing and cried, "Bae! Santa came and left us presents in our stockings!"

Bae grinned, for her enthusiasm was catching.

She was wearing a pretty red dress, like a bright winter apple, which set off her dark hair and eyes to perfection. Her tiny feet were encased in pretty red dyed moccasins and she had wound red ribbons thorough her braids.

Bae thought he had never seen a girl so pretty, then he flushed and looked down at his boots for a moment.

"Mama, can we open them?" Regina asked eagerly, sounding now like the thirteen-year-old girl she was.

"After breakfast, Regina. Now come and eat," Belle urged, and set the pan of iced cinnamon rolls down in the middle of the table, along with some sausage and the cream and sugar bowl. She poured coffee for all of them, a special treat for Christmas, since coffee was expensive and could only be afforded once or twice a year.

Everyone enjoyed the cinnamon rolls and after the pan was soaking in the wash tub, they all went into the main room to open their stockings. Rumple rubbed his hands eagerly under the table in anticipation before he followed the others.

Regina ran to the mantle and unhooked each of the stockings in turn. "Here's yours, Mama," she handed Belle her blue stocking. "And here's mine," she removed her red one from the nail and set it down on the rocking chair. "This one is yours, Bae," she handed him the one next to hers. Then she took down Rumple's. "And this one's for you, Rum."

"Thank you, dearie," he murmured, but didn't open his yet, wanting to see Belle's expression when she opened her stocking to find more than an orange inside.

Regina tore open her stocking first. "Ooh! An orange! I love them!" she held the orange up to her nose and sniffed it happily. Oranges were another rare treat and only available on special occasions. Then she found the peppermint stick and sighed in bliss for she loved candy. When she got to the toe of the stocking she found a lovely enameled red apple necklace on a fine velvet cord. "Oh! Mama, look! He brought me an apple necklace! Just like the one we saw in Mr. Clarke's shop!" That was Storybooke's general store owner.

"That's beautiful, Regina," Belle exclaimed. "See, I told you Santa would come and leave you something nice." She put the necklace on her daughter. It went perfectly with Regina's dress.

She looked at Belle. "Now you open yours, Mama!"

"All right, but—" Belle opened her stocking and her eyes widened in amazement when she pulled out a lovely scarf, made of cobalt wool and it even had the reverse blue willow branch knitted into it with some cream yarn. She was speechless with delight.

"Mama, how splendid!" Regina cried. "It matches your eyes perfectly!"

Belle wrapped the soft scarf about her neck, marveling at the intricate knotwork designs in the weave. "I've never had a scarf this fine," she murmured, and then she looked right at Mr. Gold as she said it.

And in that look was a gratitude and appreciation so heartfelt that it made him blush and smile in return, a shy smile, for even now he was still uncertain and awkward around women. Milah had never smiled much around him, now that he thought about it, and once he had been branded a coward, never again. But even when she had, it had never been like this, a smile like the sun coming out after the rain, honest and pure, that warmed him right down to his boots. Milah had appreciated what he brought for her, he realized, but she had never appreciated _him._ But Belle had known him for barely a day, and she did.

Only one other person had ever done that, and that one was sitting beside him.

Belle couldn't get over the thoughtfulness Rum had displayed, for she knew in an instant that he had played Santa and knitted her the beautiful scarf for a present. Her fingers stroked the cobalt length of wool, marveling all over again at the intricate pattern on the bottom and the way he had worked in the willow pattern in contrasting cream. Belle could knit socks and potholders, but the quiet spinner put her to shame, and she knew that she was in the presence of a master, and felt honored and touched that he had chosen to make her this gift.

One hand still on the scarf, as if afraid it might vanish into the air, Belle reached into her stocking and drew out an orange and another stick of peppermint. Then she turned and said to Rumple, "Now let's see what Santa brought you, Mr. Gold."

"Yeah, Papa. What's in there?"

Rumple glanced away from the trio of curious eyes and opened his stocking to find . . . "Another orange! And a candy cane!" He set those items aside to enjoy later. The stocking still bulged and he pulled out a leatherbound book with a title stamped on it in black letters.

"Great Expectations—by Charles Dickens," he read aloud. "How brilliant! Now how did he know I love to read?" he mused, and winked at Belle.

"Santa knows everything. He watches you through his magic seeing globe." Regina informed him. "And that's a great book, Rum. Mama and I read it together."

His slender fingers caressed the leather, and he said, "Then I'm sure I shall enjoy it very much, dearie." He was also touched at Belle's kindness. She had saved his life and Bae's, and given them a place to stay and food. And now, it seemed, made them a part of her Christmas celebrations as well. Smiling, he turned to his son. "And what did Santa bring you, Bae?"

Bae had been impatiently waiting for his turn, and now he tore open his stocking and found the familiar thick peppermint stick and an orange also. Then he reached down in the toe and found another book, but unlike Rumple's this one had a colored illustration on the cover.

"Fairy Tales From Around the World," he read the title aloud, then looked at the lovely drawing beneath it.

His mouth dropped open.

For below the gold scrolled title was a picture of a girl much like those he had known back in his realm, wearing a red skirt and white blouse surrounded by a roomful of straw and beside her was a spinning wheel. Sitting at the wheel, spinning straw into gold, was an imp with golden scaled skin dressed in leather pants and a flowing shirt with haunted brown eyes. Underneath it was the word _Rumpelstiltskin._

"Rumplestiltskin!" he blurted.

"What?" Rumple almost jumped out of his skin at his actual name.

"Look, Papa!" Bae shoved the book in front of his nose. The name was spelled differently, and the drawing of the imp slightly different as well, but it was unmistakably a story about . . .his papa!

Rumple gaped like a half-wit.

"That's so . . ." he began, unable to articulate his astonishment.

Regina peered over Bae's shoulder. "That's the story of Rumplestiltskin," she explained. "Some authors like the Grimm brothers, tell it differently, but this one has the miller's daughter calling on Rumplestiltskin to save her life and making a deal with him for three nights and on the third night, he asks her for—"

"Her first born child, I suppose," Rumple said softly, with a snort of disbelief. That was the part all the stories got wrong.

"No, he asks her to marry him," Regina corrected.

"Really, dearie? But I thought that was the king."

"Oh he does. But the miller's daughter refuses him, because who wants to marry a man who nearly had her killed? And she marries the imp instead and they live happily ever after."

"There's a new ending for that tale, Papa," Bae put in. "I can't wait to read it. Are the other stories in here like that?"

"Some of them, yes," Regina said. "It depends on where they were told and who was telling them. Mama says folk tales and fairy tales differ from region to region."

"You should find plenty of interesting stories in there, Bae. And when you're done, I would like to read it," Rumple stated.

"Well, you two can get started then," Belle chuckled. "While I go and put the turkey in to roast."

She went to undo her scarf when Regina cried, "Wait! I have presents for you also."

"Regina, you didn't need to get me anything," Belle protested.

"But I wanted to," the girl declared, the hurried from the room. She returned moments later with a brown wrapped package in her arms, and carrying a large beautifully carved walking staff with colored beads at the top.

She handed Belle the package first.

Belle unwrapped it to find it contained a beautiful cape made of beaver fur. "Regina! When did you make this?"

"While you weren't looking," the girl replied impishly.

"But where did you get the pelts?"

"From Horse. He brought them to me as gifts, already cured, and then I sewed them. I figured you could use a nice cape when you had to go out on rounds."

"It's lovely, and I thank you very much!" Belle said gratefully. The winter wind was bitter this year and cut through her like a knife, especially when she had to go and help the citizens of Storybrooke who still came to her for cures. It was the one reason she had been allowed to stay, since without her they had no one competent enough to help her when they became sick.

Then Belle saw what else Regina was holding and asked, "What are you doing with Willow Heart's old staff, Regina?"

The girl said simply, "Willow Heart told me that she was giving me this to hold, and I would know when the time is right to pass it on. Willow told me it would be needed one day by someone I hadn't met yet. But now I have." She held the shaman's staff out to Rumple. "Mr. Gold, Merry Christmas. That old stick you're using won't last. But this will."

"Lass, you don't need to give me that," he protested. "That looks like an heirloom or something."

"It was a shaman's staff, but Willow Heart gave it to me to pass on to one who needed it, when she was dying," the girl said matter-of-factly. "She said I would know the proper time and who would need it. And I do. Take it, sir. It's yours."

Rumple hesitated a moment more, then he clasped the staff in his hand, not wanting to seem ungrateful. "Regina, this is too much, but . . .thank you kindly." He examined the staff curiously. "Do these carvings of animals and wind and things mean something to your people?"

"Yes. A shaman has all the spirit animal guides on her staff," she pointed to each in turn, naming the animal. "Wolf, Bear, Beaver, Horse, Dog, Cat, Eagle, Raven . . ." Then she pointed to the other carvings. "These are the four winds and sacred directions-east, west, north, and south. And the sun symbol stands for the power of the light, and this one of the eclipse is the power of the underworld. A shaman has the power, you see, of life and death."

"Is the staff magical?" Bae asked wonderingly.

"Well . . .it was once, when Willow Heart had it. She used it in her castings sometimes. But now . . ."

"Now 'tis just a stick to help me walk," Rumple said swiftly. "I have no magic, you know that, Baelfire. I'm just a spinner and weaver."

"And a master at that," Belle smiled.

Rumple dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Then Regina handed Bae a smaller package. "And this is for you."

Bae opened it to find a hand-carved whistle in the shape of a hawk. "Neat!"

"It's a bird whistle. So you can call the birds to you," Regina explained. "If you learn how to call them, you can feed them and sometimes some will eat from your hands."

"Thanks! Umm . . .can we try it out now?" the boy asked eagerly.

Regina glanced at Belle. "Mama, do you need me to help you cook or can I—"

"Go, you two." Belle waved them off. "Go and have fun calling the birds. It's Christmas. I'll be fine. I have most of the work done already."

"And I can help if you'd like," Rumple offered shyly.

"C'mon, Bae! I'll teach you how to call starlings and jays and maybe even a raven!" Regina hooted, and the two pulled on their coat and cloak and raced outside into the frosty morning to see if they could call some birds.

Once the children were out of earshot, Belle turned to her houseguest and said, "_You_ knitted that scarf for me, didn't you, Rum?"

"I did. For you deserve something too for Christmas," the spinner answered. "'Twasn't right we all had gifts to unwrap and you had none. I would have liked to make you a shawl but there wasn't time or enough yarn, I fear."

"What you made me was wonderful enough," Belle assured him. "I have never seen anyone knit so well in all my life. Where did you learn?"

"Two spinster sisters took me in when I was a lad and my papa abandoned me," Rumple replied. "They taught me all that I know about working with cloth and knitting."

"I'm sorry your papa left you, but it sounds like you may have gotten a better life after all," she said sympathetically. Then she recalled his odd clothing and said probingly, "Where do you come from, Rum?"

"Far away," he replied evasively.

"From across the sea? Europe? Russia? The Far East?"

"Something like that," he answered. Then he smoothly changed the subject. "What would you be needing my help with, Mrs. Winters? I may walk with a limp, but I have two good hands."

Thus recalled that she needed to get the turkey in the oven to eat supper, Belle quickly abandoned her questioning for now, though she vowed to try and pry some more information out of her reclusive guest if he could later. She had a feeling that Mr. Gold was more than he seemed, and she loved mysteries.

"You can help me set the table while I season the turkey and put it in the oven," she told him, and ushered him into the kitchen.

As he walked slightly ahead of her, she had to admit that Regina had been right in bequeathing Willow Heart's staff to him. It was a little taller than he was, and looked fine as he walked with it, lending him an air of importance and mystery that he hadn't had until then.

She smiled and showed him where the plates and silverware were located in the hutch, and the good tablecloth embroidered with birds and fleur de lis which had been Lumiere's mother's.

As Rumple set the table and Belle seasoned the turkey and placed it in the oven to roast, Bae and Regina were outside behind the cabin, where Regina attempted to show Bae how to imitate bird calls with his whistle.

The first time he blew it, the whistle barely made a noise.

"Uh . . .let me try it again." He blew again, and this time it screamed like something dying.

Regina covered her ears.

"Sorry," Bae apologized.

"Here. Like this," Regina took the whistle back and blew carefully into it while moving her fingers over the small holes.

The sound that emerged sounded like a sparrow chirping.

"See? Now you try. Blow softly, like a breeze, not a winter storm."

Bae tried again, and this time sounded less like a banshee. "I almost got it."

Regina giggled. "You just need practice."

After about ten minutes, Bae said, "Let me see how many birds you can call with this."

Regina took the whistle and imitated a sparrow, thrush, and a finch.

All three birds fluttered close beside them and then she handed Bae some corn she had filched from the chicken feed bin and they scattered it on the ground.

The songbirds hopped over and began to peck at it eagerly, while the two watched and smiled.

Soon more birds came and were pecking at the corn. Regina handed Bae the rest of the corn and said, "I'm going to get more!" then she skipped off to the barn to do so.

Bae continued to throw the corn for the birds and try and practice breathing softly, not wanting to blow the whistle around his neck and frighten them off. The birds' tiny feet left minute tracks in the soft snow and Bae thought about having a snowball fight with Regina when she returned.

Regina emerged from the barn with a wooden scoop of chicken feed and gasped as a tall Mesquakie brave with a single crow feather in his hair appeared in front of her. "Running Horse! What are you doing here?" she cried in Algonquin.

"Saying hello. And wondering why you haven't accepted my token," he said, and smiled at her. He was a year older than she was and they had been friends since they were children.

"Horse, I can't. My place is here now, with my mama. You know that."

He stiffened, his eyes flashing angrily. "Have the white men tamed you then, Raven Heart?" He used her old Mesquakie name. "You going to put your hair up like some good white squaw and wear a cap and all now?"

Regina glared at him angrily. "Stop it, Horse! You're acting like an idiot! I told you before, what you want can never be. T_his _is my home now. With my mother."

"They treat you like outcasts!" he snorted. "And yet you want to stay with them? Why?"

"Because I can stay nowhere else!" she growled. "Horse, we've been over this ten times. Why can't you just go and court Summer Breeze or Wild Cherry?"

"Because I don't want those soft maidens. I want the wild and magical raven," he retorted.

Suddenly they heard Bae calling for Regina.

"I have to go," she said abruptly.

He grabbed her hand. "Why? Who is he?"

"He's a guest who's staying at my house for awhile, that's all." She tried to pull free.

"A white boy," Horse sneered. "I'll bet he can't track for spit. And if he's what was making all that noise . . ." he snorted.

Regina pulled free. "He's learning how to call the birds. I remember you were none too good yourself, Moon Calf!" she used his old childhood name on purpose, to illustrate that he was behaving like one.

"Better than a white boy any day! Why are you wasting your time with him, when you could hunt with me?"

"Because unlike a certain jabbering fool, _he_ has manners!" Regina growled. "Good day, Horse!" She swung around and stomped off around the corner of the cabin.

The older boy glowered after her, and then vanished back into the trees, his heart cold and filled with jealousy towards this unknown white boy, who was probably a weakling who couldn't run a mile without falling down, or shoot a bow and hit the broad side of an oak tree.

Bae looked up as Regina came around the side of the cabin. "Hey, where did you go? The birds all flew off because there was nothing left to eat. Did your mama call you to help her or something?"

Regina shook her head. "No, I just . . .it doesn't matter what I was doing." She scattered the feed in a wide swath with the scoop.

Bae glanced at her, trying to figure out why she seemed irritated. Maybe it was because she thought he was stupid for not being able to whistle birds from the sky.

The corn sparkled like golden nuggets on the snow as the two watched and waited for the birds to come back and eat.

They waited for several minutes, and then Regina, angry because Horse had made her late and spoiled her good mood with Bae, did something she shouldn't have, and Called a raven by its secret Name.

Bae stared in shock as a bird that was almost as big as his head came soaring down through the trees and landed on Regina's shoulder.

"Hello, Brother Raven," she greeted the bird in her native tongue and stroked its head.

The raven cawed and nuzzled her and for an instant she forgot that she had an audience, reveling in the bond she shared with the bird, and the magic that was her birthright flowed through her veins.

Bae just watched as she continued to stroke and talk to the bird, who seemed to understand her.

It was only when the raven cawed at him, that Regina recalled he was there . . .and what she had done right in front of him.

With a gasp of dismay, she murmured, "Fly away, Brother. Our time here is done."

The raven launched itself skyward and disappeared over the tree tops, leaving Regina to try and explain why a huge bird suddenly came and perched on her arm and "talked" with her.

But before she could say anything, Bae blurted, "You—you can do magic, can't you?"

Regina bit her lip hard. "I . . .I . . ."

"You were really talking with that bird, weren't you? Was it your familiar?"

Stung, she snapped defensively, "I'm not a witch! Not like you mean! I am—or was—a shaman's apprentice." Then color rose in her cheeks, flushing them a dusky pink.

"But you can do magic," Bae persisted. "Like—" he almost said "like my papa" before he caught himself.

"Yes," Regina admitted, then she waited for him to point at her and make the sign for the devil and call her a savage witch and spit on her.

But Bae just shrugged. "So what can you do? Talk with animals? Brew potions?"

"I . . .I can speak some animal tongues," Regina admitted. "And know some cures for different ailments. You . . .you don't care?"

"I . . .knew someone who used to do magic. So I'm used to it."

At this revelation, Regina gaped at him. "You are? Then you don't think I'm evil? Or-or going to put the evil eye on you or something?"

"If you were going to do that, you'd have already done it," Bae murmured. "But . . .how come you can use magic? I thought . . .I thought that was all made up . . ." he trailed off now wondering if his papa's curse could really be broken here. This was supposed to be a Land Without Magic. He glanced away, and saw some birds pecking the corn, and thought maybe the Blue Fairy had lied.

"Not my kind of magic," Regina told him. "Shaman's magic is one with the earth, the sky, the rivers, and all living things. It's the spark of creation."

"Then you can't . . .err . . .change someone into something? Or curse them?"

"No . . .because I haven't learned anything like that. And I wouldn't want to curse anyone unless I had a very good reason. What you do with magic always comes back threefold," she recited a saying her mistress had taught her. "But I can Call animals if I need to. And if I'm ever in the woods alone and cold, I can do this."

She held out her hand and fire bloomed in the center of it.

Bae flinched from the heat.

Regina looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry." She cupped her hand and willed the flame to go out.

"No, it's all right. I told you, I'm not afraid. It's just a little hot around here," he joked softly.

But she let the flame flicker and die, saying, "I'm not supposed to use magic anyhow. I promised my mama . . .but then I just forgot . . .because I was angry . . ."

"Angry? Why? Was it something I did?"

"No. It was something that . . . Daniel did," Regina sighed, using the name the old trapper, Lumiere, had given her friend.

"Huh? Who's that?"

"He used to be my best friend. Until everything changed," the former chief's daughter said quietly.

Sensing she was growing upset, Bae said, "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

She shook her head. "No. I need . . .I don't know _what_ I need!" she glared at the ground. Then she jerked her head up and muttered, "That's not true. I need someone to just listen."

Bae leaned against the fence post. He raised an eyebrow. "I'm all ears, dearie," he teased, mimicking his father.

So Regina told him about what Horse wanted, and why she couldn't accept his suit, and how the ignorant townspeople of Storybrooke would have driven her into the cold to die for being an evil witch, but Belle had saved her and because she refused to turn against Regina the townsfolk had cast her out too.

"So that's why I can't leave her, Bae. She's my mother, for all that she never bore me. My own mother died bearing me, and Belle was the closest thing to a mother I ever had, and Willow Heart was like my grandmother. After what's happened. . .I don't think I can ever fit in with their society. But I won't leave my mama to marry him, I don't love him, not that way, and my heart is here," she gestured to the cabin. "He doesn't understand that."

Bae took her hand in his. "I do. You're like me . . .your heart is with your family. Back at home . . . some people thought I should leave my papa, only I wouldn't, because like you he's my family, and you don't leave your family." _Not even when they're dark sorcerers who scare the piss out of you, _he thought ruefully.

Regina gave his hand a squeeze. She didn't know why or how, but Bae understood her better than anyone ever had since her father had died. Like Belle. "I'm glad you came here, Bae." It was true. Yet even with all she had revealed, still she had not told him all of it.

"You know . . .so am I, even if it was by accident," he mused.

She laughed. "Or fate."

He smiled back, then picked up some snow and threw it at her.

She squealed and then threw some back, nailing him in the neck.

"Ooh! I'm gonna get you for that!" he threatened, and then lunged after her, with some more snow in his hand.

Regina stumbled backwards, giggling, and ran behind the barn with Bae in hot pursuit.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle basted the turkey while Rumple decided to make some tea for them both.

Finding she had only a small amount of regular tea, and a lot of some other kinds of tea leaves, he mixed a few kinds together and then poured the hot water over the little steeping basket and let the teapot steep for about four minutes.

When Belle went to sit down and have tea, the most delicious smell came out of the teapot when she poured the tea into her cup. "Oh! This smells heavenly! Rum, what is this?"

"Oh just a few different teas I blended together."

"What ones did you use?" she asked curiously, after adding a sugar cube and a little cream and taking a sip.

"The black tea, some almond tea, some caramel tea and some little bits of cocoa and a sprinkling of vanilla," he told her. "Do you like it?"

"I love it!" she said, taking another swallow. "It's like . . .Christmas morning, like unwrapping the best gift ever, like . . ." Her cobalt eyes glowing she murmured, "I think you've made a new tea blend, Mr. Gold."

He sipped his own cup. "You know, this _is_ good. It reminds me of . . .a summer's day long ago, and playing with my boy in the meadow." Before the soldiers had come to take Bae away, before he had been cursed into a monster, back when he still had hope. As he swallowed he thought of how slowly hope had started to come back into his life, creeping up on silent cat's paws, surrounding him with its light, as he drank the wonderful tea he had created and thought a miracle had occurred right there.

Belle went to go and baste the turkey again, and soon scrumptious smells were filling the cabin. She heated up the glazed carrots and put small rolls in to bake.

While she was doing that, Rumple decided to clear the tea things from the table. He carried the teapot and Belle's cup over to the washtub and set them carefully down on the table next to it.

Then he went back and picked up his own cup to bring it over to the washtub.

Belle turned around as she was basting the almost golden brown bird and said jokingly, "Once Regina came in from tending the chickens and complained about the rooster, said he chased her like a hen all over the yard and bit her on the bottom. And I was so mad I cried, 'The randy old thing! Oughta cut it off!'"

Rumple was so startled he dropped his cup on the floor.

Belle blinked at him. "Well, wouldn't you say he ought to have it cut off?"

Rumple knelt and picked up the cup in dismay. He held up the cup, looking very like a guilty child. "It's chipped." There was a very small chip in the rim."It's only a small chip. You can barely see it," he said worriedly.

"It's fine, Rum. I'm sorry if I startled you with my little joke." Belle shoved the turkey back into the oven.

His mouth quirked up. "For a minute there I was afraid you might cut mine off."

Belle giggled. "Really, Mr. Gold! As if I wanted to spend Christmas Day with a headless man!"

Rumple started giggling. "Oh, dear! Oh dearie dearie dear!"

Belle started to laugh too. "What's so funny?"

"Because I thought you meant . . ." he almost fell on the floor he was giggling so hard.

"Oh!" her eyes went wide as she comprehended his mistake. "You _really_ thought . . . you wicked imp!"

"Guilty, I'm afraid."

Then Belle doubled over laughing, nearly dropping the cup on the floor again.

That was how the two teens found them when they entered the cabin a few moments later.

"Something sure smells good in here," Bae sniffed appreciatively.

Regina looked from Belle to Rumple. "Did something happen?" she asked.

"Nothing much," her mother replied serenely. "I told Mr. Gold a joke, which startled him so much he chipped a cup."

Regina smirked. "I'm not surprised. Sometimes your jokes are very . . . strange, Mama."

"You can say that again, dearie," Rumple teased, earning himself a mock-glare from Belle.

"Go wash up, you two. Supper will be on the table shortly."

Neither child needed to be told twice.

Belle found the fruity pear wine that Lumiere had said came all the way from France, made from Anjou pears, and that he'd only drank on special occasions. She brought a bottle up from the cellar and opened it so they could all toast and celebrate this Christmas.

She poured a small glass for each of them, and then said, "Let's have a toast—to family and new friends and all the hope of the Christmas season!"

Then they all clinked glasses and drank.

Rumple carved the turkey with Belle's sharp carving knife, and mischievously, Belle hummed "Three Blind Mice" while he did so.

Rumple had to stop he was laughing so much, before his fingers became a casualty.

But finally the turkey was carved and everyone had some with delicious chestnut stuffing, cranberry relish, carrots, and rolls. Belle had also made gravy from the drippings.

Bae remarked he had never tasted a bird so tender as this turkey, and Regina said turkey was one of the great staples of the Algonquin tribes, along with maize, squash, and beans. "They call them the Three Sisters, and plant them together always."

Belle lofted an eyebrow, surprised that Regina was so talkative about Indian customs around these strangers, but then she caught how Bae and Regina seemed comfortable around each other and wondered if Regina had shared some of her past with the boy and he had not judged her like those in Storybrooke.

It almost made her want to confess her past to Mr. Gold. She thought he didn't seem like the men in Storybrooke, all too ready to judge her for being Winter Storm's bride, and looking at her with disgust mixed with pity for being an Indian captive. She knew the only reason she had been allowed to stay in town had been because she had healing skills they needed, though she had also been a librarian back in Boston and was educated at almost a university level.

But at the last minute her heart failed her, and she decided to wait to tell Rum about her past . . .perhaps tomorrow once they had returned from town she would reveal it.

Tonight, however, she was content to keep her past in the past, and tomorrow was a new day.

Once they had all finished dinner, and the kitchen was tidied and all the leftovers stored in the cellar, they all retired to the main room to sprawl in front of the hearth and relax with cups of Rumple's new tea and roasted chestnuts. Belle picked up the book she had been trying to finish for a week now—_The Count of Monte Cristo_, Rumple started to read _Great Expectations_, Bae read his fairy tale book, starting with the Rumplestiltskin tale, and Regina stitched an apple on a handkerchief of hers to cover a stain she couldn't get out.

The fire hissed, crackled, and popped in the grate, and though the wind shrilled in a lonely crescendo about the cabin, inside all of the occupants were snug and warm, reading about daring escapes, swordfights, magic, and princes in disguise. The fire and two large oil lamps cast plenty of light to read by, so no one had to strain their eyes, and after an hour or two of companionably reading, Belle set her book down and said, "Regina, shall we sing some carols?" She looked at the two men, who were still reading their Christmas gifts avidly. "If you won't mind, that is?"

"Huh?" Bae looked up from reading about Baba Yaga and Vasilisa. "Um . . . no, go ahead. Right, Papa?" He nudged Rumple with his foot.

"Hmm . . . what did you say, dearie?" He lifted his eyes from his book.

"Regina and I would like to sing some Christmas carols, it's what we usually do on Christmas. Unless we'd disturb you? I know what it's like to get lost in a book."

"Once she got so lost she forgot about the bread baking in the oven and burnt it black as cinders!" Regina related with a wicked smirk.

"No, I'd like to hear these songs," Rumple encouraged, and set his book on his lap, marking his place with a finger.

Belle started out with the classic, "We Wish You A Merry Christmas", then "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen", and segued into "Away In A Manger", "The Ivy and the Holly", "O Holy Night", "Greensleeves", and finished with "Silent Night."

When they were finished, Bae and Rumple applauded and Bae said, "You two ought to be minstrels or something! You're incredible!"

"Quite right, Bae. What a lovely concert, dearies!" Rumple said, smiling.

Belle and Regina curtsied.

"We're glad you liked it," Belle said.

Then Belle read aloud a poem called "A Visit From St. Nicholas" by Clement Moore, which she said she ought to have read last night, but had forgotten about, but better late than never.

Afterwards, they all bid each other good night, for tomorrow would be a busy day too, as they would go to Storybrooke so Rumple could "take the waters" as it was called, and see if they helped his crippled leg.

Bae was soon snoozing, with visions of sugar plums dancing in his head.

But Rumple remained awake awhile longer, thinking how for the first time in a long time, he had actually enjoyed a woman's company. Yet he knew it could not last. Nothing good in his life ever had . . .except for his son.

He glanced over at Bae, curled up on his side, asleep, and whispered, "Good night, my wee boy," which was something he had not called his son since he was a toddler, or at least not where Bae could hear him. Then he pulled up his own blankets, and was swept off by Morpheus into the realm of dreams, where he danced with Belle through a meadow of wildflowers and dozens of butterflies, fluttering about them in a rainbow of wings.

And as the fire died down to embers, its glow struck the staff leaning against the wall beside Rumple's bed, and the carvings seemed to shimmer for one brief moment, with a violet eldritch light. Then it died and no one was the wiser.

** A/N: The tea Rumple invents is actually a real tea blend, called Mr. Gold tea and you can purchase it from a shop online called adiago teas. It really does taste as I've described and I love it! **

**I also did a little role reversal with the chipped cup. And in case you're wondering what the deal is with the oranges, oranges back then were very exotic fruit and most people couldn't afford them all year round, and so they were a special treat.**

**What challenges await Rumple, Belle, Regina, and Bae in Storybrooke? Find out next chapter! Thanks for all the awesome reviews and reads! Hope your holiday was merry and your New Year will be bright!**


	4. Welcome to Storybrooke

**4**

**Welcome to Storybrooke**

Temperatures plummeted to almost sub-zero during the night, and when the family and their guests awoke the next morning, frost limned the windowpanes and formed a crust on the snow. The sun was a weak thing that shone briefly upon the winter world, and the sparks it struck from the expanse of snow caused a glare that made Regina and Bae squint and shield their eyes as they shoveled a new path to the barn to gather the eggs and milk Bossy.

"It's colder than Hades out today!" Regina shivered as she groped her way along the rope tied to the barn door. Her boots, even lined as they were with wool and rabbit skins, still couldn't keep out the cold, and her feet felt like blocks of wood as she slogged through the snow up to her knees. She wore three pairs of woolen stockings and a thick woolen skirt plus her sheepskin coat, gloves, scarf, and a cap that had flaps that came down over her ears.

"Or a witch's heart!" agreed Bae, repeating a saying he'd often heard in the Enchanted Forest. He was bundled up similarly, with Belle's sheepskin coat over his cloak and shirt and his scarf, gloves borrowed from Lumiere, who had no need of them any longer, and a plaid trapper's hat also.

The wicked cold promised to freeze the marrow in their bones, but the work in the barn, gathering the eggs, mucking out the cow's byre, and milking her and feeding the animals, got the children's blood flowing, so they were warm by the time they exited the barn with their bounty.

But the walk back slogging through the snow nearly made the milk freeze in Bae's pail even with its cover on, and both were glad to get into the warmth of the cottage again, where the wood stove burned merrily and Belle had hot tea, cornmeal mush with cinnamon and maple syrup and rashers of bacon and eggs waiting for them.

"Once we get done with breakfast we can get out our snowshoes, Regina, and figure out the best way to get to Storybrooke," Belle said practically. She glanced sympathetically at Mr. Gold, whom she knew must be hurting in this blasted frigid weather.

"If it's too much trouble, we could wait," Rumple said, massaging his leg under the table. He wasn't looking forward to going out at all in this weather, and wished silently he had even a portion of his magic back, which would negate totally his need for this "miracle cure". _If wishes were horses, Rumple, beggars would ride, _he reminded himself briskly. There was no use longing for what could never be, that way only lay disillusionment, pain, and madness. He had learned that lesson long ago, after crippling himself and returning home to a wife who despised him and wished he'd died, so that she'd be an "honorable" widow. Privately Rumple now thought it was because even while he'd been away, she'd had her eye on some likely bucks down at the tavern, and having him come home ruined her plans. For he knew now after pondering for many years and being too busy to read the signs, that Milah had most likely been cheating on him for years since he returned home, and had just "discovered" Jones by chance one afternoon.

But thinking about Milah made his stomach hurt, so he resolved not to, and he hoped that she and her buccaneer lover ended up with a good dose of the clap for their troubles. He had more important things to study on.

Bae was thinking on it too as he finished his breakfast, then he asked Belle, "Missus Belle, do you have a sled? You know, for hauling wood and stuff? We could have Papa ride on it, that way he wouldn't hurt himself trying to walk through this snow, and I could pull it."

Belle nodded slowly. "I do, but . . .are you sure you can travel all that way?" The boy looked healthy and strong, but it was nearly a mile and a half to Storybrooke and through the deep snow . . .

"We can take turns, Mama," Regina said decisively. "I know how to tote things and I'm strong as a mule deer."

Bae stared at her. "You're a girl!" he objected.

She tossed her head willfully. "A Mesquakie girl, white eyes, not one of your simpering weak handed village girls who needs a man to carry things for her," she retorted. "I once packed fifty pounds of deer meat on my back after I'd shot it, so the ravens and wolves wouldn't get it all." She eyed Rumple consideringly. "He might weigh a bit more than the deer, but he's skinny enough and the sled glides once you grease the runners with bear fat."

"But . . . you told me you were a chieftain's daughter," Bae sputtered.

"So? What does that have to do with anything?" She lofted an eyebrow at him. "Among my people, the daughter of the chief works like anyone else, we don't sit on our backside all day and wait for people to serve us. A leader sets the example, and sacrifices twice as much for the people, so my father always said. So I can take turns helping you, fair's fair. It is done," she said proudly and crossed her arms.

Bae subsided then, a bit grumpily, and Rumple hid a smirk, thinking, _she outmaneuvered you good that time, boy. Best watch out, for she'll keep you on your toes._ He found he liked Regina's spunk and sass, it showed that despite the less than kind reception she'd gotten from Storybrooke's citizens, she hadn't let it beat her down._ Unlike you, you helpless coward!_ A voice in his head mocked, sounding suspiciously like Milah's. He tried to shut the voice out, for he wanted to forget the past and start anew, here in this land where nobody knew his name or reputation.

After breakfast, Regina showed Bae where the sled was that she used to haul wood and greased it well with the container of bear grease in the barn. Belle brought out bunches of blankets and pillows and Rumple found himself bundled up quite cozily on the sled, while Belle, Regina, and Bae fitted snowshoes to their boots and prepared for the trek to town.

Bae insisted on pulling the sled first, after Regina showed him how to fasten the tump line around his shoulders so he could pull without straining himself through the snow. She walked beside him, a quiver with arrows and a bow slung over her back, singing old Mesquakie hunting songs.

Belle carried a long knife strapped to her thigh and a derringer in her holster at her hip. She was no gunslinger but the gun would enable her to fight off predators should one attack them and it was always best to be prepared. In her pack she had medicines, jars of preserves, and some other odds and ends to trade with. She preferred most times to barter with the people of Storybrooke rather than flash around the money she'd inherited from Lumiere. The canny trapper had always told her a wise man boasts not, and she didn't want anyone coming out to the cabin hoping to get rich quick and trying to hurt, rape, or kill her or Regina. She did, however, carry enough small change on her to get Rumple into the bathhouse and to have lunch in town at Granny Lucas' inn.

Regina took over towing the sled, with Rumple sitting ensconced upon it like some duke surveying his snowy kingdom, or a persnickety cat, the spinner thought, amused, his staff resting across his knees. The wind made his cheeks red, but he was actually enjoying the feel of it and looking around at the landscape, which had trees as far as the eye could see dusted with a heavy coating of pristine white snow.

To lighten the monotony, Belle began to sing some carols in her lovely soprano, and soon Regina joined in as well.

Then Bae sang a silly song about a man who ran a crooked mile, and Rumple joined him, and they both started giggling when they tried to "out-talk" the other at the end, making the time fly despite the bitter cold.

Soon they saw the smoke from the town up ahead and the road became easier to travel on and Bae took the line from Regina to tow Rumple the rest of the way into town, so people didn't give them odd looks and sneers.

Storybrook was not a large town at all, having started humbly as a frontier trading post for trappers and pioneers about eighty years ago. Now it was a polyglot of almost a hundred families and about twenty businesses, including a cannery and a lumber yard, as well as a livery stable and an inn.

Main Street was a slushy mess of mud and snow, but Bae managed to follow Belle and drag Rumple and the sled up to the bathhouse, which was a large brick building with a beautifully painted sign in blue with gold lettering.

The sign read _Storybrooke's Miracle Healing Waters—Take a Bath and Feel Like New Again! 5 cents for a glass of water, 15 for a plunge_

Belle pressed twenty cents into Rumple's hand. "You can do both. There's baths for men and women, right now it's the men's turn, during the morning. I'll meet up with you there—" she pointed down the street to a cozy looking white inn with red trim with a sign that advertised—_Granny's Red Hood Inn—Fine Home Cooking and A Place to Rest Yer Head. For rates inquire within._ "It's also a restaurant, so we can eat lunch there. While you take the waters, I'm going to trade a few things," Belle said briskly.

"Go right ahead, dearie. Bae and I will be fine," Rumple assured her, though he felt his stomach churn about baring his leg in front of other men who might sneer at him.

With Bae's help he got to his feet, and leaning on his staff because he was stiff, went inside the building, trying to ignore the curious stares of passersby as he did so.

As Regina went to drag the now empty sled off down the street he heard a man sneer, "Move along, squaw!"

Rumple wasn't sure what the word meant, but he got the gist that it wasn't a polite one and frowned before following Bae inside the building.

Inside the floor was tiled almost like a Roman bathhouse, and the air was warm and moist with an odd smell to it. Bae wrinkled his nose and nudged Rumple. "Papa—does it smell funny in here? Like . . .rotten eggs?"

Rumple gave a tiny nod. "Yes, but I don't know why."

An elderly man hunched slightly turned and said, "'Tis the hot springs, man. They smell like the devil's own hell, but they heal like heaven—or so I've been told. Maybe this will help my rheumatism!"

"I see. Perhaps it will help my leg too," Rumple said hopefully.

The man grinned, showing many missing teeth, then turned around to hand the attendant, a boy somewhat older than Bae with a shock of red hair, his money.

"Gimme the full treatment, boy!" he cackled.

"Sure thing, Mr. Smith!" said the boy, whose name was Archie, and he went and took a small glass from a stack of them on a tray and handed it to him. "When you get to the Pump Room just fill it up."

"Thank'ee." Smith took the glass and processed into the Pump Room where there was a faucet you could fill up the glass from with the mineral water. Technically, the customers were only allowed one glass, but Archie never knew anyone who could stomach more than that, so he didn't bother to keep tabs on them after awhile.

"Hello!" he greeted Rumple and Bae. "Here to take the waters?" He knew everyone in town and could always spot new faces.

"I'd like to see how they work on my leg," Rumple said, handing him the money. "But it's an old injury so I don't know . . ."

"The waters work wonders for them too," Archie said honestly. "You're new here, aren't you? I'm Archie Hopper." He held out a hand.

Rumple shook it. "Nice to meet you, lad. I'm Mr. Gold. And this is my son, Bae."

Archie shook his hand too. Then he handed Rumple a glass and gestured. "Right through there is the Pump Room, but you might have to wait a little for the bath to clear out. Welcome to Storybrooke, Mr. Gold!"

The two went into the Pump Room, and Rumple sat down on a bench while Bae went to fill his glass with the water. The boy wrinkled his nose as he came back. "Papa, this water smells awful! Like something died!" he hissed, handing the glass to his parent. "You sure you wanna drink it?"

Rumple looked at the water and muttered, "None of them have died yet. And usually the best medicines taste terrible."

"Better hold your nose then," advised his son. "Else you won't be able to get it down."

Rumple suspected he was right, and quickly held his nose while swallowing the "miracle water". Then he handed the glass to Bae to put on the table, where it would be washed later and put back in the front room.

After ten minutes, an attendant beckoned them into the bathing room. They were shown to a partitioned booth with a curtain and the attendant handed Gold a pair of swimming trunks and said he could put his clothes in a little cubby while he "took the waters".

"I'll watch 'em, Papa," Bae assured him, taking the clothes and folding them as Rumple got into the trunks.

Rumple was very awkward as he limped out of the cubicle and into the bathing area. There was a set of stairs that led down to the pool, and Rumple used his staff to walk down them and into the water, then he handed the staff to Bae. Four other men were in the pool and he feared they were all staring at his scrawny frame and crippled scarred leg.

The attendant said they had twenty-five minutes to take the waters before they had to get out and move into the cold plunge, since others were waiting to use the springs as well.

The water lapped over Rumple as he sat on one of the carved stone benches in the pool, whose waters bubbled and foamed and glinted an odd yellow color. The water smelled strongly, but was very soothing and he stretched his leg out in the water and felt the heat penetrate bone deep.

He groaned softly as the tight muscles unwound and released.

"Papa, are you all right?" Bae queried, thinking Rumple was in pain.

"I'm fine, lad," his father reassured him.

"It feels good, don't it?" asked the old man who had rheumatism. "Loosens all the stiffness right up. Been doin' this every week now. Nothin' like it."

Rumple massaged his leg and thought Mr. Smith was right. His leg was slowly easing and the almost constant ache was dulling to a gentle throb.

Bae sat down on one of the benches in the room to wait, idly examining the tiles on the wall and the floor. Some had pictures of sea creatures and mermaids and sea gods. Towels were stacked by the attendant's station and as each person got out, was given one.

Rumple would have liked to spend the whole day in the bathhouse and let the heat bake him like a lobster, but he knew that wasn't possible, so when the attendant called them to get out, he swam to the stairs and took his staff and got out, finding he could walk much easier than he had previously.

"Papa, do you feel better?" Bae asked.

"Much," Rumple said. "My leg isn't cured, dearie, but it feels a whole lot better," he told his son, thinking the water had probably helped a lot of the soreness he'd gained when he fell twice on the hard ground as well as relieving the initial ache.

They processed into the next room, which was a cold plunge designed to lower the body temperature back to an acceptable level. Rumple yelped as he waded into it and only stayed a minimum amount of time before getting out. As he did so, he saw a young blond man in his early twenties speaking to Bae.

Rumple wrapped the towel about him and went over to get his clothes from his son.

The blond stranger looked up. "Hello, Mr. Gold. I'm Dr. Victor Frankenstein, formerly a medical student from Harvard Medical School." He shook hands with Rumple.

"You're a doctor?" Rumple repeated.

"Yes, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind my examining your leg?" the other began. "Your son says it was hurt in an accident?"

"A long time ago," Rumple began, but before he could say anything more, the redhaired lad came hurrying up to them and said, "Dr. Frankenstein, please! My parents have asked you not to bother the guests . . ."

"Now, now, Archie, I'm not bothering I'm trying to help," began the young doctor.

"Or trying to get someone for your experiments," Archie shook a finger at him. He looked at Rumple. "He's always doing this, looking for someone to prove his scientific theories on."

Bae gaped at the blond man. "What? You want to use my papa as a—a lab rat?"

"No . . . I just need to examine his leg to see how all the joints connect . . . to prove a theory I had," began Victor.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Gold." Archie apologized. "He's harmless, even if he did get thrown out of Harvard for practicing anatomy on corpses . . ."

"What?" Bae was horrified. "Papa, let's go!" he dragged Rumple away.

"Well, how else was I supposed to learn about the human body?" protested Victor. "Wait . . . wait . . . please . . ."

He went to go after Rumple but Archie blocked his way.

Rumple returned to the cubicle to put on his clothes again, muttering, "They have some strange people in this town."

"Or crazy," Bae said, helping tie Rumple's bootlace.

They exited the bathhouse and looked around for Belle, not seeing her or Regina, Rumple suggested they go down to Granny's Inn and wait on the bench for her.

As they were making their way towards the bench, Bae spotted Regina pulling the sled with a few parcels down the street. He got up and went over to her. "Need help?" he asked.

"I'm okay, thanks," she said, smiling at him. "I'm just going to put this in Granny's back room while we eat."

She led him around the back of the inn, and said, "Mama ought to be along any minute now, she was just down at the bookshop seeing if Mr. Crane had anything new in, like she always does." As she knocked on the inn's back entrance, she asked, "So how was your father's experience with the miracle waters?" There was a wry twist to her mouth as she said that.

"He says the waters made him feel better, but it didn't cure his leg," Bae admitted. "He even drank it and I would have rather eaten shoe leather."

"I know, that stuff smells like the back end of Bossy," Regina grimaced.

"Well, besides that there was this man, he called himself a doctor, he wanted—to examine my papa and do some kind of experiment on him," Bae said uneasily.

"You mean Dr. Frankenstein?" Regina clarified. "He's a bit of an oddball, but he's harmless."

"You sure. This other fellow, Archie, said Frankenstein got kicked out of his school for using corpses or something," Bae shuddered.

Regina shook her head. "He said he did that because he wanted to find out how the body works and he didn't have any other way to do so. They don't . . . permit cadavers in the medical schools, and he says it's the only way he can learn. He calls himself a scientist. But most people think he's rather odd and they don't allow him to treat them. They prefer to go to my mama for cures. For some reason they trust her to treat them, even when they sneer at her for being my father's widow and a redskin's bride."

"Well, after meeting him, I can see why," Bae muttered.

The back entrance door opened and a girl of about fifteen emerged. She had wildly curly red hair and wore a red bodice with a black skirt. Her eyes were a dark brown. "Regina! Long time no see!"

"Hello, Ruby! I've brought some parcels for you to store up in the kitchen till we're ready to leave town." Regina greeted the friendly girl.

"Sure, bring 'em in." Then she eyed Bae. "Who's this?"

"I'm Baelfire Gold," he said, and nearly bowed over her hand like he'd been taught in his land. Until he recalled that people here shook hands and offered his belatedly. "Pleased to meet you."

"Me too," Ruby said. "You new in town? Planning to stay long?"

"Uh, we're here so my papa could take the waters," Bae said quietly.

"They don't know how long they're gonna stay," Regina interjected. She liked Ruby but sometimes the girl could be too nosy and especially when a boy was involved. She also didn't want Ruby to know just where Bae was staying. "But we're going to eat here in a bit."

"I'll make sure I get your table," Ruby said with a sultry grin, then she flounced away as her grandma called her name.

Regina began to put the parcels into the little storage closet, and Bae helped her.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle picked up a copy of _Ivanhoe_, another of her favorites, and tucked it into her basket, trading one of her jars of blackberry preserves to Mr. Crane, who adored them.

She would have liked to stay and browse through the stacks longer but she knew most likely the kids and Rumple would be waiting for her by now. She bid the bookseller, one of her good friends here in town, a good day and then stepped out of the shop.

As she made her way down the sidewalk towards Granny's she thought about suggesting to Rum that he speak with Jack and Jeff Hatter, who ran the millinery and the tailor shop. Jeff made hats and his brother made clothes, but she recalled Jack had always wanted a partner. Perhaps she could introduce Mr. Gold to them and see what developed. Jeff often traveled selling his hats, but Jack remained in Storybrooke, along with Alice, Jeff's wife, who ran the millinery when Jeff was away, and they had a little daughter named Grace.

She was so busy ruminating on the imaginary meeting that she failed to notice she was being trailed by a medium-sized man with a neat mustache and what most women considered a gorgeous physique and devastating smile.

Until she heard him speak. "Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Winters. Where you going in such a hurry, love?"

Belle spun around so fast her basket banged into her back. "Captain Jones," she said frostily. "What part of I never want to see your face again do you not comprehend?"

Jones, a trawler captain, and a known rogue with ladies, gave her his best com-hither grin. "Now, don't be like that, Belle, darlin'" he crooned, drawing close to her. "I've been waitin' to explain myself and now that I've run into you again—"

"You were following me, don't deny it!" she hissed, wishing she had a stick handy to beat him with. Since she didn't, she began to back slowly away, treating the somewhat inebriated seaman like he was a dangerous animal. And anyone who had lived for a season or more with the Fox knew never to run from a predator—it drew their attention.

"Aye, love. All the better to kiss and make up!" Jones leered, and then he moved, quick as a snake striking, and shoved Belle into the alley between the bookshop and the inn.

"Leave me alone, you cretin!" she spat, and tried to hit him with the basket.

But he yanked it out of her hand, snarling, "Now play nice, Pocahontas. You know as well as I do that you want a strong handsome man to show you a good time." He pinned her against the side of the building.

Belle tried to kick him with her foot. "Let . . . me . . ._go_!" she cried, and tried to bite his hand that he clamped over her mouth. "I have _never_ wanted you, you arrogant, puffed up, bastard whoreson!"

Jones smirked. "So the she-wolf has fight after all! No wonder the old chief wanted you in his bed! Such a pretty conquest!"

"I loved Winter Storm!" she growled through his hand. "But you're lower than a worm, to treat me this way!"

"Nonsense, Pocahontas! Everyone knows what kind of woman gives herself to an Indian! And who knows how many of his braves had you before him, eh?"

Belle struggled, but was no match for his strength, and when she bit him, he slammed her head so hard against the brickwork she saw stars.

His hand was on her skirt, pulling it, and murmuring, "Now, love, you know you want it, hot little piece like you—all alone without a man all those months—"

Belle felt her world start to spin crazily, and she began praying the bounder wouldn't actually take her right there, and why couldn't she find her voice to yell for help? Her derringer was in her pocket but she couldn't get to it.

Rumple had seen Belle coming towards him and then saw the man come up behind Belle and say something to her. He recognized the amorous glint in the man's eyes and the devilish handsome grin, and for a moment thought that she invited this man's attentions. Until he caught the look of utter revulsion in her azure eyes and then he saw the man grab her and shove her into the alley beside the bookshop.

Now if there was one thing Rumplestiltskin could never abide, it was violence towards a woman. His papa had never respected women, but Rumple had been raised for most of his growing years by two women and they had taught him differently. Even when Milah had raised her voice and her hand to him, he had never attempted to strike back, though most men would have considered him well within his rights to teach her a lesson.

He simply felt it was wrong to use his greater strength on a woman, even if she made him long to smack her around the village square.

Other men might have thought him a coward for not teaching his wife her proper place, in fact he had been sneered at for just such a thing, and mocked because his wife "wore the breeches" in his household. But Rumple had never broken his early childhood training.

So seeing Belle manhandled by this rogue got his blood up. He limped as fast as he could towards the alley, forgetting for an instant he was just an ordinary man now, and not the Dark One.

He reached the mouth of the alley and saw Belle pinned by the larger man, and cried, "Release her, you filthy rogue! Before I send you crawling out of here on your belly!"

As soon as the words left his lips, he realized too late what he had done.

Jones whirled around, expecting to see a strapping man confronting him.

Instead he saw a slender man with a staff before him, almost ten years his senior.

Jones smirked. "Wait your turn, Grandpappy, and maybe I'll let you have her when I'm done!"

"I _said_ let her go!" Rumple snarled.

The captain laughed. "And what if I don't? You gonna fight me for her, Hobblefoot?"

Rumple hesitated, some of his anger fading as he realized he was helpless against this bigger and stronger foe.

"Thought so!" chortled Jones. Then he turned to yank up Belle's skirts.

Belle groaned. "Rum . . .help . . .me . . ."

"I'll help you, love," leered Jones. "Help you have a good time, little squaw!" He fumbled at the tie for his breeches.

"URK!" he gasped.

As Rumple's staff suddenly moved with a life all its own and slammed him right in the crotch.

Rumple hadn't known exactly what he was going to do, only that he had to do something or else be a witness to Belle being violated. The next thing he knew, he had swung the staff with all of his strength inbetween Jones' legs.

Jones made a muffled sound, like a deflated pig bladder, and crumpled, releasing Belle.

Belle held her head woozily for a moment, then realized she was free of her tormentor, saw the man at her feet, and promptly went and kicked him—_hard_—in the stomach. "Take that, you horny goat! And I hope you're unable to sire children or take pleasure in a woman ever again!"

Jones whimpered. "Blimey, I . . .think . . . you have unmanned me!"

Rumple came and put the tip of his staff against the other man's chest. "Good. Because clearly you need gelding like a randy bull. Be glad I didn't have a pair of shears handy!" He made a snipping motion with his hand.

Jones paled. "You're no man! You're a . . .demon!"

"He's more of a man than you!" Belle spat. "Get back to your ship! Before I call the watch and have you thrown in jail!"

Jones grimaced. "Do it, you bitch! Like anybody would believe the whore of an Indian! Figures you'd only do it with redskins and cripples! You ride him like a rocking horse, Pocahontas?"

Then he grunted as Rumple slammed him alongside the head with his staff, knocking him out.

Leaning on his staff, Rumple turned to Belle. "You all right, dearie? He didn't . . . I mean . . ." he went red.

"No . . .you came just in time, Rum," Belle said, and suddenly reaction set in and she began to shake. "He didn't . . .hurt me . . . like that . . ."

"Hey. It's all right," Rumple soothed, and he went to touch her gently.

And found himself holding her as she hugged him as if he were the last man on earth.

He was startled, then he clasped her to him, soothing her like he would have Bae. "Shhh . . .dearie, you're all right now . . .nothing's gonna hurt you . . ."

For an instant Belle let herself be comforted, finding the spinner's arms quite adequate for that role, possessing a fine sinewy strength that belied his slender frame.

Then she recalled that she was in public, and had nearly been . . .ruined by one man and was now behaving like a wanton with the one who had rescued her. She drew back, a blush staining her cheeks. Her reputation was already in tatters, no need to give the rumor mongers more gossip.

"Forgive me, Mr. Gold," she said softly, then she straightened her skirt and smoothed her blouse and fixed her hair. "You are a most gallant man. Just like a hero in a tale."

Rumple blinked. "Me? A hero?" he stammered.

Anyone who had known him in his village would have burst out laughing at such an assessment. Cripple, coward, pansy-ass. The Dark One. But a hero?

Never.

"Yes. You knocked that bully into next week," Belle declared giddily. "And you with a bum leg too. If that's not a hero, Mr. Gold, I don't know what is."

She longed to kiss the look of shocked surprise from his face.

_What are you thinking? You just claimed you weren't a wanton to that ne'er-do-well Jones, and now you want to kiss Mr. Gold! Your wits must be addled!_

She pressed a hand to her cheeks, thinking that were this another time and place, she would have kissed him and to hell with propriety. But this was no tale, she was no princess, and she had a reputation to maintain as a respectable woman. But she wished, for one moment, she dared to follow the impulse of her heart, and do the brave thing and kiss him senseless. Because once he learned the truth, he would be like every other man—and scorn her for being the bride of a Mesquakie.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold," she said, and then she gathered her wits and her basket and walked from the alley.

After a moment, Rumple followed, still bemused at the title she had given him.

Rumplestiltskin. Hero.

He realized then that this was the first time he'd ever felt truly proud of himself . . .without the dark magic.

He scowled as he looked at Jones and thought, even when I was the Dark One, dearie, I was a better man than you.

Then he walked out of the alley, his head held high for the first time since he had taken the power of the dagger.

But there was one thing that puzzled him. Jones had used that word—_squaw_—again to refer to Belle, like the other man had on the street. He wondered what it meant. He had the feeling it was not a complimentary thing, and wished to know why they insisted on calling the kindhearted intelligent woman something so rude.

Then he recalled how Belle had felt in his arms, so warm, so welcoming, so enchanting. He smiled, until he recalled that if Belle ever knew what he really was—no hero but a former beast called the Dark One—she would flee from him like every other woman had done.

But it had been a grand dream while it lasted.

** A/N: well, what did you think? Hope you all liked and it seems I will be continuing this fic for awhile longer. Next up, lunch at Granny's and Rumple meets the Hatter brothers. **


	5. Opportunities

**5**

**Opportunities**

Rumple caught up to Belle after a few minutes, finding his lame leg was much better after taking the waters, it ached less despite the cold snap, and he moved easier and held his head higher than his wont. He didn't speak to her, feeling suddenly awkward, even though he had finally done one brave thing and saved her from the despicable attentions of that degenerate man.

Belle too was quiet, her heart was still fluttering a bit at her near brush with being ruined by the odious Jones, but as she looked sidelong at Mr. Gold through her lashes she felt a fluttering of a different kind in her breast. And she felt a blush rise in her cheeks. She hadn't felt this way about a man since Winter Storm, though Mr. Gold was Storm's complete opposite—slender where Storm had been tall and well muscled, lame where Storm had been as fit as any Mesquakie war chief, pale where Storm was dark, quiet where Storm had been outspoken and fiery tempered. And yet, she was drawn to Gold as she had been to Storm, for she saw in the man a hidden strength, a strength that was not the kind that took, but the kind that nurtured, a quiet strength that endured despite all the hardships and blows life could bring.

Like Storm, this man was a survivor. A man for all seasons.

_Out here, you need a man who can do that. That's the best kind of husband._

She felt her blush deepen. She must be deluded, she had hit her head harder than she'd thought when Jones had shoved her. She barely knew this man, only his name and what he had chosen to tell her of his past and his son. Yet here she was thinking about . . .marrying him! She, the squaw widow!

_You don't even love him!_ her conscience reproved. _But I didn't love Storm either . . . not at first, not when he took me captive . . .that came later . . ._

She bit her lip hard and scolded herself mercilessly for letting her silly romantic nature run away with her.

He had come to take the waters and now he would be off to . . .wherever. Unless, her traitorous heart whispered, she could convince him to stay.

Rumple was ruminating on the fact that trouble seemed to find him and his wherever he went as they entered the homey establishment that was Granny's inn and restaurant.

It wasn't that busy at this hour, and some patrons glanced at Belle and the man beside her and looked away, though a few gave her looks of dislike before turning around.

A girl in a bright red bodice and sensible black skirt with dark curly hair bound with crossed red ribbons came over to meet them. "Mrs. Winters, I have your table all ready," she said, smiling at Belle. Then she bobbed a small curtsey to Rumple. "Hello. You must be Mr. Gold. Regina and your son—Bae—told me about you, sir. I'm Ruby Lucas, and I'll be your server this afternoon."

"Pleased to meet you, Ruby," Rumple said and held out his hand for her to shake.

This wasn't how he normally would greet a young lady, but he had observed that was how they seemed to greet people here, and he wanted to fit in, so no one would suspect he really wasn't from here.

Ruby clasped his hand, then said, "Right this way please," and she led them to a table near the back where Regina and Bae were already seated, sipping sarsaparilla with ice.

Rumple sat down beside his son, and murmured, "What's that you're drinking, Bae?"

"It's sarsaparilla, Papa. A fizzy drink, kinda like . . err . . .sugar and water. Here. Try it." He shoved his glass over, and Rumple sipped.

His eyebrows went up as the fizzy bubbles tickled the back of his throat and his nose.

"Well?" Bae asked.

"It's . . .different. I like it, but . .. I really need something hot in me," his father replied.

"Me too," agreed Belle, who was still shivering slightly from what had almost occurred.

They placed orders for tea and coffee, with plenty of cream and sugar, and then Ruby recited the day's specials.

Belle opted to have the clam chowder with fresh honey wheat bread and a small salad with dressing.

Regina wanted the ham with peach chutney and a side of crispy potatoes.

Bae chose a beef pot pie with a biscuit on the side.

Rumple chose a plate of chicken and dumplings that came with a biscuit as well.

As they all ate their food, exclaiming over how good it was, Belle asked, "So how did the waters feel on your leg, Mr. Gold?"

"Oh, quite well, Mrs. Winters," he replied. "I find I can move much easier now. The boy who runs the bathhouse, Archie, said that a few more sessions might help it even more."

"That's true, especially with older injuries," Belle nodded. Then she broached the subject. "Were . . .were you perhaps thinking of . . .staying on in Storybrooke then?"

"I . . .suppose I could," Rumple replied. "Though I . . .need to find work. I'm afraid I . . .lost the money I had travelling here in the storm."

"Well, you mentioned you were a tailor, there's two brothers in Storybrooke who run a shop—Jeff and Jack Hatter run the milliner and tailor shop. Perhaps you could talk to them about getting a job there. They're always busy and could probably use the help of someone experienced, not an apprentice they'd have to train."

"Is that near here?" asked Rumple.

"Just down the street a ways," said Regina. "Mama, can I have some pie? Granny made apple today." Apple was her favorite.

"Of course. Would you like a piece of pie too, Bae?"

"Yes'm. Thank you," the boy said. He hoped his papa could find a job too. Or himself. "Maybe I could look for work too."

"You could, though there's not much for a boy around here," Belle cautioned. "You really ought to be in school, Bae."

Regina wrinkled her nose. "When it opens again. If fusty old Mr. Crane can even make it up the steps."

"Regina, hush! The man has gout," Belle scolded.

The girl shrugged. "Well, he's old. Ought to be home by the fire and let his son teach."

"I believe Ichabod's newly come home from finishing up at Harvard," Ruby remarked. "Fit as a fiddle and if he didn't stay on at Boston maybe he'll teach here. He's very smart, even if he is a beanpole."

"I don't care how tall he is, as long as he's not got a problem with the _Mesquakie_." Regina said.

"He doesn't seem to," Ruby allowed, bringing their pieces of pie.

"I'll speak with him, and perhaps you can attend school in the fall too, Regina," Belle said.

Regina didn't look too pleased with that. But she said no more about it and ate her pie heartily. That was one good thing about coming into town, Granny's apple pie. Regina resolved to ask her for the recipe, for surely she could learn to make it.

Rumple was thinking hard, hoping that these brothers would allow him to work alongside them in their shop, because he needed money so he could rent a house in town, for he knew he couldn't keep living in the cabin with Belle, however much he enjoyed her company and Regina's. But right now that was the only option, since he was broke.

Rumple asked Belle for directions again to the Hatters' millinery and tailor shop, and while Belle was settling the bill and haggling with Granny, went to see if he could strike up a deal with the brothers for a new spinner and tailor.

Regina got the recipe for Granny's pie from Ruby, and then went with Bae to retrieve their goods from the back room of the inn and put them on the sled.

Granny eyed Belle and said, "So, who was that gentleman you were eating lunch with, Belle? He's from out of town, I'd remember one like that."

"His name is Mr. Gold . . .and he's here with his son Bae to take the waters because of his lame leg," Belle said softly. "In fact, he almost froze to death when he lost his way in the blizzard and ended up on my doorstep . . ."

Granny, whose given name was Margaret, gave a soft gasp when she heard that, and then beckoned Belle off to the side behind the counter, so they wouldn't be overheard. Normally a single woman and a man would be taboo living together, but since Regina and Bae were there, they were chaperoned, in a sense, and from what Belle was telling her, this Mr. Gold had behaved like a perfect gentleman.

"And since he's lame, I don't think he'd be much of a threat to your virtue," Granny chuckled wickedly. "Then too, Regina would probably scalp him if he tried anything!"

"That she would, but I don't have to worry about that with Mr. Gold," Belle assured her. "He's a proper gentleman, polite and respectful to both of us."

"Does he know then?"

"No . . .I . . .I haven't spoken of it yet . . .well, he knows about Regina but not about the fact that I was a war chief's bride," Belle admitted.

"Belle! Surely you must broach the subject," Granny warned. "Before e learns of it from some windbag here in town."

"Yes, you're right. I just . . .hesitate . . ." she bit her lip.

Granny put a hand on her arm. "If he's the gentleman he seems, he won't take the news amiss. But he might be angry if you keep it a secret. Men are touchy about such things."

Belle sighed. Then she resolved to tell Rumple that very night.

"Here. Take this home," murmured Granny, and handed Belle a large apple pie wrapped in a blue checked cloth. "For dessert tonight."

Belle smiled and said, "You're a true friend, Margaret."

"Oh, pish tosh. With your new houseguests plus Regina growing like a weed, you'll need the extra food."

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple found the tailor shop easily enough, and entered the shop, which was a brick facing with a large window displaying a lovely women's ball gown of rose tulle and satin and a man's suit of fine gray silk with a cranberry waistcoat and matching straw hat and the sign reading-Hatters Fine Millinery and Tailoring. A blue awning snapped in the brisk wind.

As Rumple pushed open the door, a little bell jingled, announcing a customer had entered the shop.

The floor was made of thick oak planks and large windows let in plenty of light. Several long low tables were set on one side with bolts of material on them and scissors, needles, thread and fabric chalk. Dress forms were set up about the room draped with half finished clothing and some with samples, Patter books were stacked on a bookshelf along the right hand wall and a pot bellied stove provided heat. A long counter ran the length of the opposite wall and there were several kinds of hats for both men and women on display on one side, and a door that led into the back rooms of the shop, plus another leading to the necessary and a set of stairs that wound up to the living quarters above the shop.

There was also several things Rumple didn't recognize, like some odd looking black box like things on a table and something that looked vaguely like a spinning wheel but much larger and with some odd looking attachments. Two young men a bit older than Bae were cutting out fabric and using the odd-looking thing to stitch it.

Everywhere though there was swatches of color and fabric and some portraits of fine ladies and gentlemen adorned the walls.

Rumple walked over to the counter, where a tall young man in his late twenties or early thirties with neatly barbered dark hair and bright blue eyes was talking animatedly with an elderly man. The proprietor wore a finely tailored suit of worsted wool with a green satin waistcoat, and a gold chain of a pocket watch shown in his front breast jacket pocket.

Rumple waited until the men had finished their conversation and the customer had left before he approached the man behind the counter.

"Hello, I'm Jack Hatter. How may I assist you, sir?" the tailor greeted him pleasantly.

"I'm hoping I might assist you, Mr. Hatter," Rumple began, holding his hand out to shake. "My name is Rumford Gold, and I've just arrived in town." He had chosen that name since it was similar to his actual one, and also he had read of it in the book Belle had given him as Christmas gift, there had been a gentleman in it named that.

"I see. Come to take the waters, then?" Jack asked affably, noting the man's walking staff.

"I did, but now that I've done so, I feel compelled to stay on and continue doing so," Rumple explained. "My son and I were travelling here when we lost all our belonging in that snowstorm a few days ago. Our pack horse spooked and ran off with everything we owned and we couldn't find him, he probably died of exposure, leaving us at the mercy of the elements and the good will of our neighbors." His voice was a bit sarcastic at that last, because Rumple had never really found good will towards him or Bae in any of their neighbors, until he became the Dark One, and then it wasn't so much good will as fear.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Gold." Jack said sincerely.

"Well, anyway, I'm a spinner and tailor by trade and was wondering if you might need any assistance in your shop?"

Jack's eyes widened. "As it so happens, Mr. Gold, I just lost my best assistant. He eloped with the butcher's lass about a week ago and left me shorthanded. If you could step over here, would you mind giving me a demonstration of your abilities? Have you ever used a sewing machine, Mr. Gold? Or seen a spinning jenny? These are new inventions all the way from New York."

Rumple was astonished to see the black box was called a sewing machine and it could stitch rapidly when you pumped a treadle similar to a spinning wheel.

After demonstrating it, Jack also showed him the spinning jenny, and how it could produce softer finer thread quicker than you could by hand.

Rumple was impressed by both machines, saying that he had never seen the like where he was from.

"Where are you from?" asked Jack curiously.

"A long way from here," Rumple replied truthfully.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You in some kind of trouble with the law, mister?"

"No. It's just . . .I didn't leave on the best of terms—my wife ran off with another man—it was all over the town . . .I made some bad decisions after wards . . . and me and my boy are here to make a fresh start," Rumple answered. "I'd rather leave the past in the past, if that's all right with you."

Jack studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "All right, Gold. A man's entitled to reveal what he chooses about his own past."

Rumple exhaled in relief, afraid that the other man would pressure him to tell him where he was from, and Rumple wouldn't have been able to answer with any concrete examples. He really had to study up on this world's history and geography. He thought he would ask Belle if she had any books on the subjects when they went back to the cabin.

"All right, Gold, let's see what you can do with this," Jack led him to a table where a half-finished coat was lying. "First let me see your handwork, then we can see how you do on a sewing machine."

Rumple picked up the coat and noted how half the trim on the front was missing. He picked up the fabric chalk and marked carefully where the trim should be placed, using the ruler and tape measure provided. Once he had the measurements, he picked up a needle and threaded it, then cut the right length of trim and began to sew, quickly, neatly, and expertly.

Jack observed quietly for a few moments, then said, "You sew damned well, my friend. Better than me, I'm afraid, and I'm not half bad. Your stitches are almost uniform. But come over here and I'll show you how the rest of us poor sods get our stitches to turn out like that."

Rumple watched as Jack demonstrated how to use the sewing machine, then let Gold try it also. He found it a wondrous thing indeed, to sew with barely any effort, and thought about how much time it would save him in making clothes. "This is a most ingenious device," he said to Jack.

"Yes. Makes it much more efficient for us tailors. My brother Jeff is the milliner. He makes all the hats you see in the shop." The other man looked at Rumple thoughtfully. "Well, Mr. Gold, you've proved you're as good a tailor as any, would you like the position of assistant that is vacant?"

"I would, very much. What are the terms of this arrangement?" asked Rumple, his eyes glistening with triumph. For the second time that day he felt an unfamiliar sensation in his breast . . .the feeling of pride such as he had not felt since before he took the Dark One curse.

For he had taken said curse out of desperation, to save his son from the horrors of a war that had been fought for as long as he could remember, with no end in sight, to save Bae and all the other innocent children torn from their homes and families and forced to fight and die for an arrogant bastard who chose to sacrifice his tenants children rather than himself and his bully boys who called themselves soldiers. But that decision had come at a great price, greater than he had known, and it had not made him proud to pay it.

Nor proud of the things the cursed spirit within him had made him do. He hadn't wanted to frighten his son, and while at first the power had made him delight in being able to send people running with a glance, when before people had spit and sneered at him for being the village coward and crippled and useless, that feeling soon faded after a month or so, and left him with a hollow feeling that he had tried to fill with making deals and gathering possessions, only to discover that those things were no substitute for the regard of his son and the love the boy had for him. Yet he had been too scared to let the power go . . .and return to being the village coward again.

Until now . . .when with this journey to this new land, he could leave behind what had been . . .and start anew.

_And this time, I'll do it right,_ he vowed silently.

Jack Hatter beckoned to him and said, "We can discuss particulars in the office."

Together the two men retired to the small office near the stairs, leaving the two apprentices to finish up the shirts and pants they were sewing.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

After they had settled upon his wages and Jack agreed to provide his tools in a satchel and also the free use of material so Rumple could make some clothes for himself and his son. He would work five days a week and have the weekend off. He would work from 8AM to 5PM and have an hour break for lunch and a ten minute one to wet his whistle down at the local bar The Rabbit Hole. For the first two weeks, he wouldn't draw his full salary because part of that would come out of his pay for the raw materials for his and Bae's clothing. He could bring his own lunch or purchase it from Granny's.

"I'd have you meet Jeff, but he's away right now in Boston, trying to get some more clients," Jack said. "Oh and would you mind training Johnny and Tim, our apprentices? I've done some with them, but lately haven't had much time with trying to fill the orders we have."

"I would be glad to," Gold replied. He had never minded instructing the young people of his village—if they came to him and asked, that is.

"Good. I'll give you this weekend to get settled in and then you can start work on Monday. How's that sound?"

"You've got a deal, dearie," Rumple said and then they shook.

"By the way, where are you staying? Here in town?"

"Umm . . . no . . .right now I'm boarding with Mrs. Winters . . .until I can afford to rent a room here," Rumple informed him. "Bae and I are helping the widow around her place with some chores."

Jack nodded. "Mrs. Winters could probably use some help around her place, considering it's just her and her girl." Unlike some people, he didn't scorn Belle for her own past, or Regina either.

"That's what I figured," Gold nodded, pleased that his new partner didn't seem to censure him for living temporarily with the widow and her daughter.

"Why don't we get a drink to celebrate?" suggested Jack.

Rumple agreed and they went down to The Rabbit Hole for a beer.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

After having a small pint of beer with Jack, Rumple bid his new business partner good day and went back down the street to Granny's where he met Belle, Regina, and Bae. When he told them the good news, Belle almost hugged him. "That's wonderful, Rum! I'm so happy for you."

"Me too, Papa," Bae said.

"Congratulations, Mr. Gold," Regina said, then she looked at Belle. "Mama, shouldn't we be headed home? Before it gets dark?"

"Yes, we should," Belle agreed, and they arranged everything on the sled so Rumple could sit on it and then Bae drew it out of town, with Regina and Belle walking alongside.

By the time they reached the cabin, everyone was weary and footsore, except for Rumple, who was almost frozen due to the sudden drop in temperature.

Belle quickly started a fire and had Rumple sit close by it wrapped in three afghans with warmed bricks under his stocking feet and a cup of tea at his elbow.

Regina started a light supper while Bae fed Bossy and soon they dined upon bacon, eggs, and cornmeal cakes. They ate the pie for desert along with tea, and Belle was going to take Gold aside and inform him about her late husband but by the time dessert was done they were all so tired they could barely keep their eyes open.

So they went to sleep, and Belle vowed to tell Rumple the next day. But somehow with all the tasks about the cabin and being summoned back into Storybrooke to deal with a sudden outbreak of colds and fevers, as well as Rumple's new job, Belle quite forgot about her promise.

Until two weeks later, when Rumple was helping Regina prepare a simple dish called shepherd's pie in his homeland, one evening, there came a knock at the door.

Belle opened it to admit Mayor Spencer and his friend, Mr. Tolle, the bank manager. "Why hello, gentlemen. What brings you out on this cold night?"

Spencer coughed and entered the house, stomping snow from his boots. The banker, a florid man with thinning blond hair and a three piece suit and great coat, followed suit.

"Your pardon, Mrs. Winters. But we have an urgent matter to discuss with you," Spencer began oily.

"What sort of matter?" asked Belle nervously, as she took their coats and ushered them to seats by the fire.

"It concerns the disposition of your late benefactor's estate," began Tolle.

"What about it? Lumiere willed me all of his material possessions," Belle began. "I can show you the deed."

Spencer snorted. "No need. His material possessions are not in question here, my dear."

"Then what—"

"The land this cabin sits upon is not your property," Tolle told her bluntly.

"What do you mean? Lumiere built his cabin here," she protested, a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"He built it without paying taxes on this land, which belonged to the town of Storybrooke," interjected Spencer. "And it still does."

"So what are you saying? That I owe you money?" Belle guessed. "I can pay . . ." she had Lumiere's money saved up. "I can buy the land if you wish to sell . . ."

But Spencer was shaking his head, as if discussing something with a very slow-witted person or a child. "No, dear, that's not possible."

"Why?"

"Because in the state of Maine . . .a single woman cannot own property."

Belle felt the ice about her deepen and freeze her to the marrow of her bones. "But . . .this is my home. You wouldn't . . .evict me from my home, sir!"

Spencer smiled. "Well now . . .I wouldn't want to do that, Mrs. Winters. But I must uphold the law . . .and the law states the only way a woman may have a share in the land is if she is married, and then her husband holds it in trust for her."

"You're saying that I . . . I need to be married in order to live on this land?" Belle stammered.

"Well of course, honey," purred Tolle. "It's a well known fact a woman can barely manage her household accounts, much less her own property. You need a man to do that."

Belle's fists clenched. "I'm perfectly capable of managing my own funds and estate!"

"The law says otherwise, dear," pointed out Spencer. "And unless you find a man willing to take you on—squaw woman—in a week's time this property and this house is mine."

"No! Lumiere willed it to me!" Belle cried in anguish.

"The house only. Not the land it's on."

Belle felt her heart nearly crack in two. She knew exactly what the banker and the mayor were implying. Because she didn't own the land, the mayor could raise the rent and tax her until she was unable to pay and then evict her. Suddenly the future that had seemed so bright was turning into ashes.

Tolle gave her a pitying smile.

She wanted to smack the smug grin off his face.

"So . . . unless you find a man willing to marry you despite you being spoiled goods, dear . . .this property and everything on it belongs to me," Spencer reminded her with a smirk.

Rumple had come into the front room to tell Belle it was nearly time for dinner. Just in time to hear the mayor's declaration. "Excuse me? You would take a good woman's home from her and her daughter? Why would you do such a cruel thing?"

Tolle turned to regard the spinner and tailor, giving him an incredulous look. "Are you dumb, Mr. Gold? Or don't you know Mrs. Winters is nothing but a dirty Indian squaw—wife to former Fox war chief and her daughter is a half-blood?"

Belle wanted to sink into the floor. Inwardly she cursed the banker for his callousness and herself for not breaking the news to him sooner. She waited to see the look of revulsion upon Rum's features.

Instead he glared at the two men, saying in his soft voice that nonetheless conveyed his disapproval, "I don't see how that matters any. Her husband is dead and she and her daughter are good honest women."

Tolle gaped at him. "Are you an idiot, Gold? What God fearing respectable man would take a savage's leavings to be his wife?"

"I would," replied Rumple firmly. He wasn't sure what the other man meant by calling Belle such vile names but he did understand that these two were in cahoots with each other and trying to pull off a scam to gain control of Belle's inheritance. He had studied enough of the law and of history and geography to learn that women had few rights in this part of the country . . . at least without a man at her side.

He knew he should have spoken first to Belle privately before blurting that out, but Tolle's attitude vexed him sorely and he could not stand by and listen to these two pompous asses malign the woman who had saved him and his son and was a better woman than any he had known back in the Enchanted Forest.

Spencer began laughing. "You've got to be joking, man! _You'd _ marry Belle Winters, the squaw of Winter Storm and who knows how many others?"

Belle felt her skin burn at the insinuation. "Sir! I am no lightskirt!"

Before Spencer could reply, Rumple cut in with another firm assertion. "Yes. If she'll have me."

"You're insane!" Spencer cried in disbelief.

"I'd say she's had more than her share of bucks!" Tolle brayed.

"How _dare_ you!" Belle snapped.

Before he could reply, Rumple had poked the banker in the chest with his walking stick, saying icily, "Apologize now to Belle, mister! Before I beat the manners back into you! Then get the hell out!"

"You threatening me, you cripple?"

Suddenly an arrow sprouted beside the banker's right ear.

"No, but _I_ am, you yellow-bellied rattler!" Regina cried, holding her bow in her hands. "Get your mangy carcass out of here before I put a few more holes in it!"

Bae appeared with a large bread paddle. "Yeah, before you're black and blue also! Nobody calls my papa a cripple!"

Tolle swallowed hard. "You're all a bunch of savages!"

"Then what do you call yourself?" asked Rumple coldly. "Turning a widow and her child out of their home? I'd say that was more savage than anything."

"The bank owns the property!"

Spencer gave Rumple a sneer. "Make an honest woman of her, Gold! If you can! Or else a week hence this place is mine and you can all go live in the hole and corner of the woods you crawled out of!"

He rose to leave, and Regina cried, "_You're_ the one who crawled out of a hole, polecat! How come all of a sudden you want this land so bad? What's in it for you?"

The mayor glared at her. "The satisfaction of knowing you savages are back where you belong—in the woods!"

Rumple nudged Tolle. "Well?" he demanded blackly. "I'm waiting."

The banker looked like he wanted to spit nails. But then he said, "I apologize, Mrs. Winters—for speaking the truth!"

Then he and Tolle grabbed their coats and scarves and fled.

Regina glared after them angrily. "Oughta shot them in the backside."

Belle laid a hand on her arm. "No, Regina. Then they'd have a reason to come after you. Don't worry. Their own poison will destroy them before long."

The girl subsided and lowered the bow, putting it and the quiver back on the hooks on the wall. "Mama, what do we do now?"

"I think, dearie, we need to all sit down and have a talk," Gold said. "About several things."

Belle nodded in agreement, though she was worried at how this talk might turn out. Little did she know that Rumple was concerned about the same thing.

A/N: I'm sorry for the wait but have been rather busy lately! Hope you like the new twist of things. Thanks for read ing and reviewing, as always!

By the way, I have been nominated for The Espenson Awards on tumblr for Do You Believe in Magic, A Second Little Mishap, A Dance in Winter, In Her Eyes, Unconditional and Yours, Mine and Rumplestiltskin's. They are a series of awards for Rumbelle themed fanfics and I have been nominated for Best Family Fic for Do You Believe in Magic, A Dance in Winter, and Yours, Mine & Rumple's, Unconditional has two nominations, one for Best Post-Ep Fic and one for Best Fluff Fix It (meaning where you write a better ending to an episode and also fix what you didn't like in an episode), A Second Little Mishap is up for Best Comedy and In Her Eyes is up for Best Post Episode as well for the Rumbelle wedding night that never was. Voting starts Feb 2nd-and runs through Feb7th. If you would like to vote for any of these fics, please contact me through a PM and I can give you the link on tumblr as ff does not allow me to post external links here. If any of you nominated me for those fics, then I humbly thank you.


	6. A Spinner's Solution

**6**

**A Spinner's Solution**

Rumple seated himself in the settle, propping his staff within easy reach, and crossed one booted foot over the other. Regina sat on the hearth rug, her legs crossed Indian style, and Bae took the other end of the settle and stretched his legs out towards the fire. "Papa," he asked, since his stomach was rumbling, "What about supper?"

"If you're hungry, son, go and fix yourself a plate and come eat in here," Rumple instructed.

Bae rose and walked into the kitchen to get some shepherd's pie and biscuits along with cider. Regina joined him, her mouth also watering, and then when both had returned and started eating, the spinner looked at his benefactor and said, "Belle, dearie, I believe there's a few things you've been avoiding telling me. I know you hardly know me, but I want you to know that whatever happened in the past—I will not judge you for it. But in order to help you, I must know the full story behind those men and their animosity towards you."

He looked at her earnestly, for he would not hurt her for the world, and he hoped she could open up enough to trust him even a little.

Belle looked at him, and thought she had never known a kinder and hardworking soul than this one, this stranger who she believed had been sent by the Almighty for her to help in his hour of need . . .and perhaps to help her as well. Still hoping he would not turn out to be like many of the men in Storybrooke once he discovered the truth, she said quietly, "When I told you I was a widow, Rum, I wasn't lying. That was true, but the part I didn't tell you was that my husband was not a white man. He was Regina's father—a Mesquakie war chief called Winter Storm. Adam was his English name, taken because he wished to show the white man that he respected them and because they couldn't pronounce his real one."

"Not couldn't, Mama, _wouldn't,_" Regina corrected stiffly. "They thought we were barbarians and spoke a barbaric language, so they refused to learn Algonquin."

"Regina, hush!" Belle reprimanded. Then she twisted her hands around her apron and waited for Rumple to condemn her.

But he simply looked at her and said, "Was that your dark secret, dearie? That your husband was an Indian?"

"Yes! I was a war chief's bride . . .and I married him willingly and loved him," she declared, half-defiantly. "But we were only married two hours before he died," she said sadly. "He was killed while trying to stand up to some soldiers who were sent by the government to "rescue" any captives and those with white blood and return them to "where they belonged" . . . which was white society. I . . .I didn't even have a wedding night. Though none of these fine citizens of Storybrooke will believe that when they found out I married Storm willingly. Even my last name—Winters—I took to honor my late husband." She arched an eyebrow proudly.

"I see. And why not?" Rumple said. "Was he good to you, Belle?"

"Yes. He was my master at first . . .I was his captive . . .and tended his wigwam and helped Regina and when it was discovered I had an aptitude for memorization and herbs, he sent me to Willow Heart, the wise woman, to learn the healing arts, along with his daughter. Storm never—he never hurt me. He didn't beat me or . . .or dishonor me," she said honestly. "He wasn't like what Spencer and Tolle assumed, he wasn't a savage. The Mesquakie respect their women, Rum, they trace their lineage through their mothers, and women are the ones who own the property in the tribe, and help make the laws. Unlike in white society, the women have an equal voice in the tribe, and any woman can speak with or offer her opinion. They're not considered weak or—or fragile or brainless. And they don't need a man to do their thinking for them!"

His mouth twitched at her vehemence. "Rest assured, madam, I have never thought that."

"You are different than most men," Belle acknowledged. "You don't seem to . . .mind what I was. Most of the men in Storybrooke . . . call me a redskin whore . . .they think Storm and all his braves had me, when nothing could be further from the truth. The Mesquakie frown on adultery . . .and a woman can divorce a man if she cheats on him. Or vice versa."

Regina nodded in agreement. "My father had many women elders on his council, and he was never disappointed that I was born a girl instead of a son. But as a war chief's daughter I was expected to have certain duties and responsibilities and . . ." here she hesitated and looked questioningly at her mother. "Should I tell him, Mama?"

"Go on then, Regina. It's right that he knows the truth," Belle urged.

Regina took a deep breath. "I know that you white people don't believe in magic . . .or believe that all magic is evil but . . .I swear to you that my magic is not of that sort. I was born a chieftain's daughter—and a shaman." She cupped her hand and a small flame danced upon her palm. "I can summon fire, and speak in the tongue of birds and animals, and make protective amulets and call wind, rain, and thunder and make crops grow . . . if they are planted in the right season. I also know herbs and tinctures, Willow Heart, our tribal shaman and wise woman, was teaching me magic before she passed to the next world. But she died before my training could be completed and now . . ." her eyes fell to her hands clasped in her lap. " . . . I am but half a shaman and the townsfolk of Storybrooke label me a witch and drove me from there." Her dark eyes, filled with pain, jerked up to meet Mr. Gold's. "Willow Heart always said the Creator of All gives no one gifts he or she cannot use and we must strive to understand why we are given them and how best to use them for the good of all. My magic is a gift, and I'll not give it up, not even to become like a white woman!"

Rumple met her eyes with his own and in them flared a sudden kindred understanding.

"Do you believe me? Or would you like to leave the witch woman's house now?" Regina challenged.

"I believe you," Rumple asserted. "But—all magic comes with a price, dearie, is that not so?"

Regina shook her head yes. "Always. My teacher told me that for all actions there is a price, and sometimes the price could be more than you're willing to pay, so always make certain what you do with the magic."

Belle was shocked at his easy acceptance of his daughter. "You're not frightened or . . . or alarmed at what Regina has told you?" she queried. "Either of you?"

"Regina told me a day or so ago," Bae admitted.

"In our old land . . .across the sea," Rumple improvised, knowing he could never tell them the truth, for it would never be believed, not here where people believed this world was the only world. " . . .we accepted those who practiced magic . . .as long as it was used for good purposes. We had many wise women and seers and such. So magic is not strange to me or to Bae. We would certainly never presume to judge you for it." He assured her.

Regina looked relieved, and so did Belle. "Then you, Mr. Gold, are far wiser than any man of Storybrooke," the girl said happily. "_They_ cast me out for a witch and a half-blood and called my mama a redskin's whore because she wouldn't say she hated my papa and considered her marriage to him valid and herself an honorable widow. And she refused to let them hurt me, and went with me into exile . . .only the mayor realized too late they needed her so he let us come into town on calls to doctor people."

Belle was frowning. "At first I hoped to gain people's trust when I ministered to them and everything, and some people I do call friends, but many of them see me as . . . nothing more than a loose woman and I assure you that is not true. But because of the unrelenting prejudice against the Indians and any who associate with them, my daughter and I are outcasts. Barely tolerated. Until now."

Regina's fists clenched. "When they wanna steal our land! And I want to know why? When Lumiere gave us this cabin and land, that fat banker and Mayor Spencer didn't give a hoot. But why the interest all of a sudden?"

"Maybe they need money? Spencer is running for re-election this year," mused the herbalist.

"No, Mama. He was adamant about getting us off this land." Regina was suspicious. "What's here that someone like that viper would want?"

Belle spread her hands. "Well, this spot overlooks the valley . . .there's good soil here and a nice tract of woods . .."

Rumple was thinking hard. "Is there something else here, dearie? Something like . . . a mine with precious gems . . .gold . . .?"

"Not that I've ever known. Lumiere lived here for years and trapped beaver and other animals for their pelts in the stream yonder and fished also. He never mentioned anything like that."

"But what if he never knew, Mama?" Regina questioned. "Rum's right. What if there is something like here?"

"Or they think there is," Bae remarked.

Rumple nodded. "As long as they think that, true or not, you're in danger of being evicted from here, Belle. Would you mind if I saw the deed you have to the cabin?"

Belle went and removed a small key from a secret compartment in her jewelry box, which she had tortoiseshell combs made for her by Storm as a wedding present and also a lovely turquoise and opal bracelet and a totem necklace with an owl on it—which was what Willow had said her spirit guide was. She also had a pair of matching earrings.

Then she went and unlocked her strong box where she kept all of her important papers, like the deed to the cabin.

She removed the deed from the box and shut it, bringing it back to Gold examine it.

He took it and began to read, noting that it specifically stated that the house was willed to one Mrs. Belle Winters in perpetuity to her and any heirs of her body and if she should find herself in a married state this would also include the land which would belong to her husband and in the event of his death go to her as her widow's portion along with the house.

"Do you have copies of this?" he asked shrewdly. His time as the Dark One had taught him the value of making triplicates of any legal binding document, with or without magic.

"One," Belle asserted.

"We need to draw up another one . . .and have it notorized," Rumple instructed. "And that one should be in your bank vault or with a lawyer of your choosing. Just in case."

"You're right. That's smart thinking, Mr. Gold."

"Rum," he corrected softly. Then he looked at her keenly. "Belle . . .you and I both know that Spencer and Tolle hold all the cards here. Or so they think. They think they have the winning hand. But what if we call their bluff?"

"How? They will stop at nothing to cast me out."

"If they can find legal grounds to do so," Rumple agreed. "But they made a big mistake. They left you one loophole. They left you free to marry." He swallowed hard. "I . . .meant what I said before, Belle. I would like to marry you . . .and not only to help you keep your land. But because I . . .think we would suit each other well." He blushed. "You're a beautiful woman, dearie, and I . . .I don't care that you were once a war chief's bride. What does that matter now? You're an educated woman, compassionate and kind, which was more than I could say for my former wife. I like how you're not afraid to speak your mind and you stand by your convictions, even when they might spell trouble for you. You saved my life that Christmas Eve night, dearie. I owe you for it and for Bae too. Now, I think it's time I returned the favor and saved yours."

Belle was momentarily speechless. "Rum . . .you . . .don't have to . . ." she finally found her voice.

"But I do. Regina is right, I think there must be a reason why those two underhanded men want you off this land . . .and why should you give them the satisfaction of throwing you off and getting whatever it is they want? After how they treated you, they deserve nothing so much as a good kick in the pants and to be sent crying all the way to the bank. Since I came here, I've been studying on the law in these parts . . .and I realized that while they have the law on their side at the moment, we can also use the law to help us . . .if you consent to marry me. I promise to never harm you in any way . . .I will always treat you with respect and kindness, and not subject you to . . .anything you don't wish to be subjected to," he coughed delicately, not wanting to say what he meant aloud and risk embarrassing her in front of the children. "I'm . . . a difficult man to love, so I won't expect that from you either. This can be a mutually beneficial arrangement, Belle. For me as well as you, since as your husband Bae and I can continue living here without fear of censor or harming your reputation. I have no problem with adopting Regina as my own either, half-blood or not. We'll be a family together . . .and save your land from those greedy vultures."

_Make a deal with her, Rumple, it's what you're good at, _his inner voice mocked him. _A fair trade for services rendered . . .for it can be nothing else between you. The one deal you made for love, with Milah, turned sour as soon as the ink was dry on your wedding contract, only you were too blind to see it. _Milah had thought being married to him, a poor village spinner, would be an adventure the likes of which she'd never be permitted to have as a staid merchant or miller's wife, which had been the suitors her father had picked for her. So she had eloped with him, not telling him until after their vows that she had wed without letting her father know—and as a result of her defiance he'd withheld her dowry, and she'd started her "adventure" as penniless as any beggar . . .and soon had resented him for the dreary life she led as his wife . . .and then he'd become a coward and she couldn't abide it or him.

And he, poor fool, had thought she loved him . . .for he had loved her, with the first blush of puppy love.

But now he knew better. He had learned the hard way. Love was not for him . . .not then and not now.

Yet when he looked at Belle, he could not keep his foolish wayward heart still as it leaped about in his chest.

Belle was shocked a little at Rumple's proposal, and for a moment did not know how to respond. A business arrangement, was that all she was to him? Then she blushed and wondered that she even dared to think she could be more than that to a man she hardly knew . . .a man who was willing to give to her his name in order to protect her from the buzzards who circled overhead. "I . . .I need to think about this," she murmured, even as her heart screamed that no thinking should be necessary.

Tolle and Spencer wanted this land and they would stop at nothing to get it if they could. On her own, she was unable to stop them. They would eventually raise the rent too high for her to afford and then she and Regina would be tossed off of it, to live or die in the wilderness or cast themselves upon the so-called mercy of the citizens of Storybrooke.

She rose and went into the kitchen to get a cup of tea and some shepherd's pie. Her hands trembled so much she nearly dropped her cup and chipped it. Her choice should be a simple one . . .and yet she was balking.

She bit her lip as she stirred in some sugar, looking up when Regina came into the kitchen and whispered, "Mama, you have to say yes! It's the answer to our prayers. You know that, don't you?" The girl looked at her mother expectantly.

"Well . . .I . . .don't know . . ."

Regina cocked her head. "Is it because you don't love him, Mama?"

Belle swallowed. Love? She barely knew the man . . .even if the way he looked sometimes made her hands clammy and her heart race. "Regina, I know marriages aren't often made for love . . .it was quite common in Boston to arrange a marriage, had I stayed in Boston my papa most likely would have done so . . ."

"But you loved my father, didn't you?"

"Yes . . .even if it didn't start out that way," she admitted. For she had been terrified of her savage captor in the beginning, and certain she would be scalped and hung on a pole if she displeased him. She hadn't known then of the honorable and gentle heart that beat within the fierce war chief's breast, and that the man known as Winter Storm only stormed in defense of his people, of which she had been one, as well as the love he had been searching for since Cora had died of a sudden fever when Regina was a little girl of seven. "I grew to love your father very much, Regina. You know that, I've said so often . . .and it was why I refused all the suitors in Storybrooke when we moved there in the beginning, because none of them felt right." _Because having known love once, how could I then accept second best?_

Yet here she was, considering a proposal of marriage to save herself and her child, save the land their house was built on . . .and all she needed to do was say "I do."

"But Mama, you're not afraid of Mr. Gold, are you?" her daughter persisted.

Belle shook her head. Afraid of the mild-mannered tailor and spinner? The very thought was ludicrous! Yet she had seen for herself he wasn't always so mild—not when he had come to her rescue and beaten up that scalawag Jones. Still, any animal, even the most gentle could be pushed beyond endurance and lash out, but he had been defending her . . .and had seemed almost as surprised as she had been when he had felled the cretin with his stick. Even more when she had called him a hero. As if that were the first time anyone had ever praised him like that. Perhaps it had.

"No, of course not. Mr. Gold is a gentleman," she reassured her daughter. "I'm not afraid of him . . .just hoping for something more . . .I swore if I married again it would be a man of my choosing . . .for love like your papa. And now . . ."

"Mama, maybe you'll grow to love Mr. Gold," Regina urged. "Remember how you told me that was what happened with Father? That love came softly, and crept up like cat's feet on you, and only when you stopped looking with your eyes and started looking with your heart that you saw something there that wasn't there before."

Belle smiled. That was true. Once she had let go of her fear that Storm was a Mesquakie and would harm her, did she see the man behind the savage façade, and having seen the man she couldn't help but fall in love with him. Her thoughts turned then to Mr. Gold, the mysterious stranger who had ended up on her doorstep—had God brought him to her, knowing she would need him? She recalled Willow Heart telling her once that the Creator saw all and sometimes arranged things according to His own design.

She thought of the wisdom of her own people's teachings—_the Lord works in mysterious ways._

She sipped her tea thinking about the tailor with his lean muscled frame, and even though he walked with a limp, he could make wonderful things with his clever hands, like her scarf, and his slender fingers were deft and skilled. She thought of how his hair sometimes fell charmingly into his eyes, and he'd peer at her from beneath it like a mischievous imp. He was not conventionally handsome, anymore than Storm had been, but his slender features made her heart thunder in her chest and his slow smile was like the sun coming out after a storm, and it warmed her all the way down to her toes.

She felt an unfamiliar heat rise as she thought of where that smile might lead her . . .and she had never desired a man since holding Storm's lifeless body in her arms. Until now . . .when the unassuming spinner made her feel a desire she had never known, and caused her to long for things she never had in years.

A man's hands to hold her close . . .her heart to beat in time with his . . .to feel his fingers through her hair . . .his lips on hers . . .

But then her ardor died when she thought about doing such things with a man who did not love her . . .and she thought rebelliously—_am I always to marry for convenience and never ever to know true love?_

Regina hovered, looking at her curiously. "What will you tell Mr. Gold?"

"That . . .I need a little time," she responded.

When Belle left the main room and entered the kitchen, Rumple looked uncomfortably at his hands, those slender hands that Milah had called useless for doing anything that mattered when he had returned home after being dismissed from the army and losing forever his chance to prove himself something more than his father. He wondered if Belle would even consider his proposal . . .and steeled himself for her rejection.

Bae whispered, "Papa, you asked her to marry you! Do you think she'll accept?"

"I don't know," he mumbled, his face heating. "Would that bother you if she did?" he queried, realizing his sudden decision had been made before he had spoken with his son.

"No. She's a sight better than the tramp you married the first time," his son replied bitterly.

"Bae!" Rumple rebuked softly.

"What? That's how I've thought of her since you admitted what she did a year ago," Bae said coldly. "She left us because she wanted a life of adventure and to get with some hot piece of ass . . .and she never looked back. So why shouldn't I call her what she is?"

Rumple sighed. "It's only fair . . .and it doesn't matter now, does it? We're well away from her." He glanced at the kitchen. "Belle is a decent woman . . . and I wish that more people could see that . . .and that I could offer her something more than my name . . ." _But you're too much of a coward to risk your heart again._

Bae nodded recognizing that his papa was uneasy and afraid of rejection. He cursed his mother roundly in his head while waiting to see what Belle would say. Surely she could see that this was the only solution to her problem? And to his papa's dilemma of moving into Storybrooke, since he wouldn't be able to remain forever in the house of a single woman much longer? Bae realized that he hoped Belle would say yes. Freed of his curse, his papa was a good man, and Bae liked living here and didn't want to move into town. He enjoyed being with Regina and tramping about in the woods, learning from the quick witted girl about nature and showing her he wasn't all thumbs when it came to shooting a bow or tracking a rabbit.

Then too, Regina, like Morraine back in his old land, liked his papa and didn't sneer at him for being a coward or a crippled country spinner. Then again, she didn't know about it, but Bae suspected even if she had known, she wouldn't have scorned him.

When Belle returned, Rumple made himself look up from his contemplation, his heart stampeding in his chest like a stag running through the forest ahead of the hounds. He waited uneasily for her to speak.

Belle moistened her lips before replying, "Rum . . .I appreciate your kind offer . . .but I need a little time to . . ." she began kindly.

"Of course," he said woodenly, wondering how he had ever thought she would accept him-crippled spinner with no real money—even if it was to save her farm. _You should have died so I wouldn't be shackled to the town coward!_ Milah's voice taunted. He had thought by coming here to this new world he could make a fresh start, without his reputations as either the coward or the evil beastly sorcerer. He had been wrong. Apparently Belle saw something repulsive in him.

Rejection burning a hole in his heart, he turned away, his shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for a blow, his hair sliding forward to cover his eyes.

Belle saw him turn pale, like a man who had taken a mortal blow. It was then she recalled the way her words must seem—ungrateful, cold, and unkind. She had caught a glimpse of his eyes before he had turned away—filled with pain and resignation. As if he had expected nothing less. She recalled then that his wife had left him . . .and suspected that had made him feel unworthy. Which she had just reinforced.

Suddenly another of Willow Heart's sayings popped into her head. _When your heart stops being afraid, you shall know love's promise, and like the owl in the night, your heart shall spread its wings and fly. But first you must open yourself up . . .and allow your heart to see the truth. Then and only then will you love truly._

She was letting her fear get in the way again . . .letting it dictate her actions . . . and hurting both of them in the process. She had known long ago that love was layered, and it didn't come in a blinding flash for her like some others. It came cautiously, like a shy wild thing, and only when she felt safe did it eat from her hand.

So she didn't love Mr. Gold now. Love was a mystery to be uncovered, and like the pages of an unknown story, must be read to be enjoyed.

She would have liked time to get to know him better, time for him to court her properly, but time was not her friend. She only had to the end of the week before Spencer brought his power to bear upon her and claimed this land as his. Seven days . . .and this was the only way she could thwart him.

_Do the brave thing and bravery will follow,_ she repeated the saying that had kept her enduring the harsh march to Storm's camp as his captive and the not so welcoming manner of some of his people in his village.

She had endured captivity and deprivation and hardship.

Surely she could endure marriage to Mr. Gold? A man who vowed to treat her with respect . . .the way Storm would have had he lived.

And with this marriage she would gain at last the very thing that had eluded her the day she had been dragged away from the Mesquakie. She would become again an honorable member of society—the tailor's wife. At the same time she would also spit in the eye of that doublecrossing snake Spencer and his lackey Tolle.

She put a hand upon Rumple's sleeve, her touch like the fluttering of a butterfly's wing. "Mr. Gold—Rum . . ."

"Yes, dearie?" he queried, his tone slightly short.

"I will do it. I will marry you."

"Are you certain? It's forever, dearie. I'm not the divorcing kind."

She nodded firmly. "Nor am I. Mesquakie only allow divorce for three reasons—if a husband abuses his wife, or a wife her husband, or they are unfaithful to each other and dishonor their vows. My faith—I am Catholic—also forbids it. The union of a man and a woman is sacred and holy, and what God had joined together, no man may sunder." She recited the teachings of her childhood and was comforted by them. "Till death do is part."

She clasped his hand in his, and felt a sudden shock run through her—as if she had touched lightning. It was followed by a wave of warmth, as if she stood in the middle of a midsummer bonfire.

She quivered slightly, thinking if this were passion, than she hoped it meant she would be content in this marriage. She felt her heart take flight then, upon a snowy owl's invisible wings. _Follow your heart. It always knows._

Rumple felt it too, and wondered if this were an omen. He looked deeply into her azure eyes, like pieces of the sky set in her heart-shaped face, and thought he saw desire in their depths. He nearly snorted in disbelief at his own whimsy. As if she could desire him—crippled ugly old man that he was. He was lucky she had accepted his proposal and he had no right to expect anything more. It was a marriage of convenience, and love never entered into it.

Then he smiled tentatively at his betrothed and said, "I have get started on making you and Regina dresses and myself and Bae a suit of clothes also."

"Oh, Rum! Surely that would take too long," Belle protested.

"Not at all, dearie. Not with Jeff's sewing machine and spinning jenny," Rumple informed her.

He shook her hand. "The deal is struck."

"And nobody breaks deals with you, Papa!" Ba_e _laughed, then he went to hug his new mother.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple was as good as his word, making two dresses when he had time at the shop after he had finished the day's commissions, which luckily were not heavy that week, and Jack generously let him use a bolt of rum pink taffeta and lighter champagne pink silk that had arrived damaged by water when the paddle boat the goods had been on sprung a leak in the hold. Jack said he'd have to sell the bolt at a discount and was relieved when Rumple said he could make use of it and make a dress for his benefactor from it.

Rumple didn't want word getting out about the marriage, because he feared Spencer would try and stop it. Belle had contacted Father Tuck, a traveling priest, to marry them at the week's end. She busied herself trading a few more of her remedies to buy special white flour, cinnamon, eggs, and precious brown sugar, nutmeg, and raisins. She would make a special carrot cake with cream cheese frosting—it was the cake she had always wanted to have at her wedding because that was what her parents had had.

Regina had said she would cook a special feast—in the Mesquakie style, and busied herself thawing out a shoulder of venison and gathering dried cranberries, wild onions, truffles, and chestnuts along with cornmeal from the root cellar and making wedding stuffing. She also caught wild trout and made sure they were filleted and ready for her to fry with special spices and more wild onions and carrots.

She would also make succotash, a uniquely Indian dish of corn and pole beans seasoned with salt, pepper, wild garlic, and butter.

For a sweet she would make maple candy, and they would drink some hard cider to celebrate the meal.

Rumple finished Belle's rum pink gown and Regina's deeper bronze with the water champagne silk overlay as well as his and Bae's own new set of clothes in good charcoal gray broadcloth, patterning them after suits he found in fashion books from Scotland and England. He used some more of the rum pink to fashion a waistcoat for himself with mother-of-pearl buttons, and a fine lawn shirt of cream also.

On Friday, the day before the event, he visited Marco's barbershop and got Bae's hair trimmed and his own also, along with a shave.

"Spiffing up for a fine lady, eh, Mr. Gold?" teased the barber genially.

Rumple winked. "You never know, dearie. In my trade, you don't go about looking like a mucky Monday wash, aye?"

He found that his country accent mimicked that of those people who hailed from Scotland across the sea, and thought it best if people assumed he originally hailed from there, even going so far as to study maps and pick a place of origin in the wild Highlands called Glen Morach beside Loch Shiel. There were many new immigrants to the United States and more it seemed poured into New York, Boston, and Philadelphia every week.

"No, not if you want to get custom as a tailor," chuckled Marco, patting Gold's chin with a warmed towel. "There! Now you look _bellissimo_, _signore!_ And sure to catch the eye of any single lady!"

Rumple blushed. There was only one single lady's eye he hoped to catch, and he just chuckled lightly at the Italian barber and former woodworker before paying him.

The day of the wedding dawned clear and sunny. Belle nearly wept for sheer joy at the gorgeous rum pink gown that was presented to her in a box along with matching shoes. It fit perfectly and she spun around and cried to her daughter, "Oh! Regina! I feel like a princess in a fairy tale!"

"So do I!" her daughter cried and spun about, grabbing Belle's hands and giggling. "Mr. Gold's like a fairy godfather!"

Belle laughed. "He's more than that, little raven. He's my husband!"

And for the first time she didn't think of her marriage as an obligation or a duty, but something she looked forward to.

Rumple paced nervously in the great room waiting for Belle and Regina to emerge from the bedroom. He and Bae were dressed in their suits and awaiting the priest as well as the bride and her witness. Rumple kept running his hand through his hair agitatedly until Bae hissed, "Papa, relax! You're getting married, not going to the gallows!"

"You hush your mouth, Baelfire!" Rumple shot back. "Last time I did this was over fifteen years ago and I wasn't an old cripple with a hellish past to live down."

"Papa, let the past remain in the past. Remember you always tell me, done is done, now move on and try and do better? Follow your own advice."

Rumple glared at him. "Don't get sassy with me, boy. You're not too old to get your backside tanned."

"You're gonna beat me for telling the truth?"

"No, for being a pain in the ass know-it-all imp!"

"You shouldn't be nervous. It's not like Belle's like Mama and gonna leave you at the altar," Bae soothed, knowing full well Rumple would never do what he'd threatened. Not today anyway.

"She could change her mind. Women do," he muttered, wiping his palms on a handkerchief. "The fire's too high, it's stifling in here."

"No, it's nice. Freezing outside," Bae disagreed.

Rumple ground his back teeth together and wondered what in blazes was taking the priest so long and why was Belle taking even longer. "Dearie, does the dress not fit?" he called worriedly.

Maybe he'd gotten the measurements wrong?

But the door to the bedroom opened and a vision in rum pink paraded towards him.

Rumple forgot he was capable of speech and just gazed.

Bae's mouth dropped open as he saw how the color of the gown made the roses come up in Belle's cheeks and caused her lovely hair to glow like burnished dark mahogany. The gown swept almost to the floor, but was shortened just enough so you could admire her tiny feet in their matching slippers. The gown had a neat ruched bodice, an overskirt of the same water silk as her daughter's, and a shawl to cover her shoulders, as the sleeves were worn off the shoulder.

Belle looked like a rose in bloom.

The only jewelry she had on was her mother's rose locket. 

When she saw her groom she thought her heart was going to spring right out of her chest. The cut of the suit emphasized his trim waist and backside, and fit him to a T. The streaks of gray in his hair made him look distinguished. And laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes and mouth when he stared at her.

Bae whistled at Regina, who grinned and said, "Your papa made us into the belles of the ball, Bae. Like Cinderella."

Bae offered her his arm and she took it. "You look like a lord's daughter."

Regina laughed. "Well, I am a chieftain's daughter. And you look like a rich Boston Brahmin."

Bae blushed. "Thanks."

There was a knock at the door and he opened it to admit Father Tuck.

The priest was cold and accepted a cup of tea laced with whiskey before performing the simple ceremony, marrying the two without further ado.

" . . .what God has joined, let no man tear asunder," Tuck finished. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Mr. Gold!"

Rumple took his bride in his arms and kissed her.

It was supposed to be a simple kiss, but the moment his lips touched hers, he found the latent fire she engendered within him suddenly ignited and surged through him. He kissed her as if she were the last woman on earth, the other half of his heart, and the last secret he would ever need to know.

Belle was nearly swept away by the passion that kiss made her feel, it was like drinking straight brandy or Madiera wine, heady, potent, and altogether unforgettable. And even as she felt the breath desert her body for a second she was thinking—_who knew that shy quiet unassuming Mr. Gold could kiss a girl's socks off?_

After that, she couldn't think, only _feel_—and what she felt was something wonderful, something she had dreamed about since she was a child—having a man kiss her till her toes curled, hold her and never let go, and take her to a place only they belonged.

It was pure magic, and neither of them would ever be the same.


	7. Newlyweds

**7**

**Newlyweds**

When Mr. Gold stepped back from her, Belle felt quite dizzy, as if she had drunk a whole bottle of champagne. _Now you're Mrs. Gold,_ she thought somewhat dazedly. She gazed up at her new husband, her lips rosy from his shockingly passionate kiss, her cheeks flushed and some of her hair escaping its careful coif to tumble carelessly about her shoulders. She feared she looked disheveled, like the wild squaw woman the men of Storybrooke had always taunted her for being.

Rum found her enchanting, like a forest nymph, wild and untamed. Now his wife. His hand reached up to gently brush a tendril of hair from her cheek, then said, "Shall we cut the cake, Mrs. Gold?"

Belle nodded. "Of course." She turned to where the carrot cake was sitting upon the table in the place of honor, and next to it was a large knife. Beside it was a smaller fruit cake, the groom's cake, which was for luck. But she would cut the first piece of the bride's cake, as was tradition, to symbolize her loss of her virginity.

She took the knife and cut carefully, a neat perfect wedge of the cake, and then she went and placed it up a plate.

Bae and Regina applauded quietly.

Belle held out the fork to Rumple. "The first piece of cake, belongs to us."

Rumple came and took the fork she held. Belle picked up another. They both fed each other pieces of the cake.

Rumple licked his lips. "Mmm! This is delicious. And what's the other cake for?"

"That's the groom's cake," Belle explained. "It's for luck . . and everyone at the wedding has to eat a piece." She handed him the knife. "But you cut them."

Rumple sliced five small pieces of the groom's cake, one for each of them including Father Tuck.

Tuck took his piece and happily ate it. "This is wonderful, Mrs. Gold! Did you make this yourself?"

"Actually Regina did. I made the bride's cake," Belle said. The groom's cake was a spice cake filled with sultanas, golden raisins, dried cherries, peaches, blueberries, and strawberries.

"The dried fruit was from our orchards." Regina explained.

"It's really good!" Bae exclaimed.

"He's right," agreed Rumple, savoring the spicy sweetness.

"You know, it's supposed to be good luck to save a piece of wedding cake and put it under your pillow on the wedding night," Belle told them.

Rumple goggled. "No thanks, dearie. I'd rather not got to sleep with crumbs in my hair, even though I like this cake very much. I think we can skip that tradition."

"Well, it's better than the other one that used to be practiced in ancient Rome," his wife reported.

"What one's that?"

"The one where they broke a sugar loaf over the bride's head for luck and prosperity," she replied.

"Maybe we should do that one!" Regina teased, then she ducked her mother's playful swat.

Belle invited Tuck to eat the wedding feast with them, and the rotund priest readily agreed. They all toasted the health of the newlyweds with cider and ate all the food Regina had made. Everyone praised the girl's cooking skills, and they saved most of the leftovers for the next few days, wrapping them carefully and setting them in the spring house, which was a little house attached to the main cabin, and it could keep food and milk and butter cold.

While Belle and Rumple bid Father Tuck goodbye, Bae and Regina went out to the barn to make sure Bossy, the six hens, rooster, and the mule Jenny, which they had bought to bring Rumple back and forth to town on the sled, were fed, watered and snug for the night.

They were expecting another arctic gale according to what Regina saw in the sky and observed from the animals about the place. Her Mesquakie upbringing had taught her how to read the signs in nature and climate and she said snow would probably begin falling that night.

Bae finished putting some hay into Jenny's manger and said softly, "So . . .do you feel any different now that your mama and my papa are married?"

Regina paused in forking straw into Bossy's byre. "Well . . .I haven't had a papa in over a year but . . .yours seems nice . . .better than any other white man my mama could have married. Neither of you seem to care about us being Mesquakie. Or my having magic."

"We don't. Papa always said . . .he said that differences are what make the world beautiful. That if we were all the same . . .the world would be dull." Bae replied. "And at least your mama . . .won't do what mine did. Run off with another man first chance she got. Or scream and throw things at my papa because he didn't want to leave our village and give her a better life." The boy's voice was bitter.

"Mama's not like that. She's a lady . . .and a woman, not a spoiled child. Sorry, but that's how your mama sounded to me. Like some brat who makes a scene because she couldn't have her own way." Regina sniffed.

"I know. I was little when she did that but . . .I remember thinking if I did things like that, Papa would've paddled my behind."

"Maybe he should have done that to her," Regina grinned.

"I used to think that," Bae admitted, giving Jenny a pat. He glanced around at the warm barn, with the animals contentedly eating and sleeping, smelling the straw and the faint pungent scent of the animals within it, and said, "I'm glad we don't have to leave here. I like it here."

"So am I. And I still want to know what Tolle the polecat was after," Regina said.

"Maybe we can try and look around tomorrow?" Bae suggested.

Regina nodded. "We'll explore a bit. If it's not too cold out."

Bae pulled on his mittens. "Sure. Come on, let's get back to the house. I want some tea or cocoa with cinnamon."

Regina gave him a puzzled look. "Hot cocoa with cinnamon?"

"It's really good. I made it once by mistake and now I love to drink it," he explained. "If you have some cocoa I can make you some."

"I'd like to try it," Regina said. "With some of Mama's carrot cake."

"Then let's go." He led the way inside.

Regina followed thinking that now he was supposed to be her brother . . .yet sometimes when she looked at him her thoughts were anything but sisterly! Then she flushed, scolding herself. She wasn't even of an age to court yet, though in her tribe she would have already started sizing up potential suitors, though not until sixteen would she be eligible to marry one.

_And were you still with the tribe, you would have Horse courting you, and Bae wouldn't even be a glimpse in your eye, Raven Heart._ Shaking her head, she stamped snow from her boots and entered the warm kitchen, her thoughts turning to cocoa with cinnamon.

Belle flicked through her book without really seeing the words on the page. A cup of tea was in the chipped cup by her elbow, but she barely sipped it, an instead gazed into the fire that popped and snapped in the grate. She watched Bae as he curled on the settle, reading his fairy tale book, and Rumple was knitting a hat, his needles flashing in and out, his golden yarn trailing down his legs and into the basket he had placed beside his rocking chair.

Regina was sipping her hot cocoa and cinnamon while quilling a pair of moccasins, they were a wedding gift for her new papa, though Rumple did not know this. She had meant to get them finished before the week ended, but had been too busy to work much on them before the wedding.

Belle's eyes lingered on her daughter for a moment before sliding involuntarily to where her new husband was sitting, one foot gently rocking to and fro while his head was bent slightly as he peered at his yarn. The firelight cast a warm glow upon his hair, which was the rich color of well-turned earth, tinged slightly by an early frosting of silver at his temples. He had discarded his suit jacket, hanging it neatly in the armoire in her—_their_—bedroom. He knitted now in just his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, which, she had to admit, fit him admirably.

_My husband. My family. _

It was something she had never thought to have again.

But here she was a wife, and this time no one would be shooting her husband before her eyes and dragging her back to a world she had left five years ago, a world that judged and scorned her for choices she had made while following her heart.

Her hand smoothed the skirt of her rum pink gown, thinking how lovely it was, and how lucky she was that her husband was able to make such garments with such skill on such short notice. If only she could still the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. But she couldn't help but think about what was still to come—her wedding night.

With Storm she had looked forward to that part of her wifely duty with eagerness, nay, even anticipation. But now she was unsure, nervous, and anxious. She wasn't sure how to react. She only knew that if he demanded his conjugal rights, she was supposed to submit to him as his wife. According to what her religion taught, consummation of the marriage made it legal in the eyes of God and man, and also enabled her to have children.

She ran her tongue around her teeth and thought about the fireflash of passion she had felt when Rum had kissed her. She couldn't recall ever feeling like that, since Storm had kissed her rarely, his reserve and restraint as a leader making him wait till she was his wife to indulge . . .but that time had never come.

She darted another glance at him, wondering what he would be like in bed . . . and if what went on there would be something she looked forward to or dreaded. She bit her lip and tried to lose herself in _The Count of Monte Cristo _again.

Rumple could feel her anxious eyes on him, even while he pretended to be engrossed in his knitting. He could have knitted this scarf with his eyes shut, and he was trying to do something relaxing so he could calm his own nerves. When he had agreed to marry Belle, he had done so to help her out, to do the right thing, and because he owed her for saving his life. He had never expected to feel the sweeping rush of passion he did when he kissed her to seal their wedding vows.

He couldn't recall ever having felt like that before, even with Milah at the very beginning of their marriage, when he thought he loved her and she him. He had been too shy and awkward to kiss her with any real force, and performing his husbandly duty had been something he'd done because it was expected, and Milah had never acted like he was anything special in that department. He supposed wryly he had been lucky to have conceived Bae on that first night, because four months later he had been drafted. Then almost six months later he came home, branded a coward and after that Milah had scorned to have him in her bed.

The needles flashed in and out, and the scarf grew by inches, and he fought against looking over to where Belle sat on the settle and risk seeing some sort of revulsion in her eyes. She had, after all, only married him to save her land, not because she wanted crippled Mr. Gold.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and listened to the soft ticking of the mantle clock, wishing that time would freeze and then wishing it would speed up and put an end to this eternal waiting.

The clock struck nine, and Rumple nearly dropped his knitting. He looked up at his son and said quietly, "Time for bed, Bae."

His son had nearly nodded off over his book. "Mmm . . .all right, Papa." He shut the book and set it on the small bookshelf before going to change in the little necessary off the kitchen. Bae usually slept on the couch before the banked fire.

"Regina, you too," Belle reminded her.

"All right," the girl replied and she put the moccasins and her needles and quills away in her work basket and set it back on the shelf beside the fireplace. She went and hugged Belle good night on silent feet, then she approached Rumple.

She hesitated only briefly before she put her arms around him and said, "Night, Papa." Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Rumple was startled by the girl's sudden show of affection, but not so much that he didn't respond to her the way he used to Bae when Bae was younger. He hugged her back and whispered, "Good night, lass. Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite."

Regina giggled and made a face. "Ha! As if Mama would have bug in her beds."

Then she drew away and practically skipped down the hall to her room, thinking about how nice it had felt to be held by a man again. And while not as sinewy and strong as her father's arms, Mr. Gold had his own quiet strength and it made her feel safe , loved, and part of a whole family once more.

Belle rose slowly and tucked her book away on the bookshelf also, then carefully banked the fire. Outside the wind rose to howling shriek and snow swirled in its wake, rattling the windowpanes.

"That's some storm building up out there," she heard Rumple remark.

"Yes, but hopefully it'll blow itself out by morning," Belle said practically.

Her heart thudding nervously in her chest, she made her way to her bedroom, carrying a large beeswax taper in its holder. She set the candle atop her vanity and removed the overskirt of the gown, her shoes and stockings and petticoats. Then she froze, realizing she couldn't remove the whole gown without assistance and tiptoed across the hall to Regina's room to get her daughter to undo the buttons in the back.

But she discovered that Regina was fast asleep.

Biting back a cry of dismay, she walked back into her room, and discovered her husband was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots. His cravat was undone and folded neatly on a chair, as was his waistcoat. He glanced up as she entered, and upon seeing the trepidation on her face, said quietly, "Belle. You needn't be afraid I'm going to . . .ravish you."

She colored faintly. "I . . .just wanted to see of Regina could . . .unbutton my dress . . ."

"Turn around, dearie," he said, and gestured.

When she complied, he began undoing the row of pearl buttons. He felt her shiver slightly as he gently undid the back of her dress and asked, "Are you cold? Or . . . are you that afraid of me?"

He dreaded what the answer would be. Maybe she found his touch repulsive? After all he was twenty years her senior. No longer a spring chicken, as they say.

"No! I'm not afraid of you, Rum. I'm just . . .nervous about . . ." She trailed off, not knowing how to speak about what was to come, and so she awkwardly remained silent.

"You're nervous about what comes next," he finished. "Sleeping with me."

Her face burning, she turned to look at him, her gown slipping off her shoulders. "Yes. You see I . . ."

"You've never been with a man, I know. But you—"

"—I know what happens," she interrupted. "I know that as your wife I'm supposed to . . .to do my duty . . .bear your children . . ."

"Belle. Stop," he ordered firmly. "I don't want you to sleep with me out of duty. Or obligation. Or even to have children. Either you come to me willing or not at all. I am not and never have been a man who ravishes a woman. That's a line I will never cross, or else be damned to the fires of hell."

"But . . .if we don't consummate the marriage . . .it's not valid . . ." she stammered, holding up her dress with a hand, though some of her corset peeked through the top.

"Says who?" he countered.

"The law . . .the church . . ."

"And is there any law that says a marriage _must_ be consummated on the night of the wedding?"

"Umm . . .no . . ."

"Then we can wait. I don't want an unwilling bride in my bed."

"I'm sorry, Rum. I'm not afraid . . .I just want . . ."

"You want what you felt with Storm," he murmured. "But I'm not him, Belle. I'm just Rum Gold. I can't replace him in your heart, nor do I want to. I want to have my own place there. But I can't until you get to know me. And I get to know you. It's only been a few months since we met, and we're still testing the waters. Love doesn't happen overnight. Or at first sight, like in the fairy tales," he said with a wry smile. "Attraction is like a lightning bolt, striking unexpectedly. But love is more than just attraction. Love is knowing, deep in your heart, that you've found the other half that makes you complete. You know them like you know your own name, and you trust them with your life and your heart. And once you've found that, making love isn't a duty, or a chore you need to get done, it's something amazing."

She stared at him, thinking he had put into words all she could not say. "Rum, that's . . .beautiful. Did you ever . . .with your first wife? I don't even know her name."

"Her name was Milah. And no, I have never felt that way with her, or she with me, or else she'd not have run off with the scoundrel she did," he replied, with a slight hint of bitterness. Yes, he had been the village coward but he had never shirked his responsibilities towards her or his son, always making sure they had a roof over their head, food to eat, and other things they wanted. And he had always been a faithful husband to her and never beat her or berated her. Yet that, it seemed, was not enough.

"She was a fool, and worse," Belle replied heatedly. "Whoever she ended up with . . .probably wasn't half the man you are."

He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "She would disagree vehemently."

"Like I said. She's a fool. But I got the better deal. I got a husband who will stay beside me, and fight for me, and have my back. I may not know much about you, Rum, but I know that. Because any other man in your position would have hightailed it out of here when I told you the truth about me and Storm. Considered me used goods and not worth associating with. Like the so-called "good" citizens of Storybrooke." Her eyes flashed.

"Sometimes people who think they're upstanding and good really aren't. They're just sanctimonious twits and idiots."

"Yes! See, you do understand me." She shivered suddenly from the chill that had seeped through the windows, even though they were closed with the curtains drawn.

"I also understand you're going to catch your death of a chill if you don't finish getting into your nightgown and into bed," he noted. "Look, your feet are probably freezing!" He indicated her bare toes peeping out from the hem of the gown, which were nearly white.

She hopped on a foot, wincing. "I . . .forgot with what we were discussing."

"Get undressed, dearie, and then come to bed," he ordered softly. "We can continue our discussion beneath the covers."

She went to do as he had said, a little embarrassed, when she realized it would be impossible. Unless . . ."Rum, can you undo my laces?"

"Of course. C'mere."

He carefully loosened and untie the strings on her corset, frowning and muttering, "Damned wire cages! No wonder you women are always fainting. You can't breathe right."

"My mama always said we women suffer for fashion. It's the way of the world," Belle said, and then inhaled deeply. She winced as the whalebone stays bit into her skin.

Rumple snorted. "I've never understood that. Clothes can be pretty and comfortable, and there should be no need for these . . .torture devices."

"But . . .without it I probably wouldn't have fit into your lovely gown."

"Nonsense! Take the cage off and I'll prove it to you."

Astonished, she went and removed the corset behind the changing screen, then pulled the gown back on. It wasn't as full without the petticoats, and she held the skirt up but when he buttoned it again it still fit. Her eyes widened.

"There, you see!" he exclaimed.

"Oh! I never . . .how did you . . .?"

"I measured you, dearie, before I began. Without one of those . . . _contraptions._ And that's what I used when I made the gown."

She looked down at herself. Her bosom was a little fuller, but she could breathe normally, and the dress still looked incredible. "Rum, you're . . . incredible!"

"Hardly. Just a good tailor," he said quietly, then he went to unbutton her gown again. He scowled when he saw the red marks the corset had left upon her skin. "Torture device! Hold on a minute. I'm going to get some salve to put on these."

He rose and went to where he had his chest of drawers and opened it. Then he took the small jar of ointment he had purchased for his hands, which often became dry in this weather, and smoothed some gently on her back. "How's that feel?"

"Better," she murmured, her skin tingling a little from his hands stroking her skin, so delicately, yet his touch made her quiver with an unfamiliar heat.

He wiped his hands on a cloth he had inside the jar, thinking he had been right to be horrified the first time he'd seen one of those cages on the stand in Jack's shop. The wire and whalebone cages cinched a woman's torso so tightly that it cut off her breath and marked her skin if worn for more than a few hours. He shook his head thinking of the ridiculous fashion notions and wondered who had come up with such a hideous thing. He much preferred the simple chemise and brassieres of his homeland.

"Belle, have you ever considered wearing . . .something besides that cage?" he queried, as she returned behind the screen to resume undressing.

"Something else? But that's what white women wear," she began. "The Mesquakie don't, not with deerskin dresses and tunics, but that's how women's clothing here is made."

"What if I told you there's some undergarment better than those bloody cages?" he asked as he unbuttoned his shirt and removed his trousers and put on his own nightshirt.

"Better?"

"Yes. As in, it doesn't make you unable to breath or eat or sit properly. It's comfortable, but it holds your . . err . . .bosom in and supports it without making your waist the size of a toothpick and squishing you."

"What . . .what is it?"

"It's called a brassiere, and when I have the chance I'm going to make one for you."

"I've never heard of them before. Were they something women wore in Scotland?"

"Not everyone, but . . .many women I knew did and they found them much better than those torture devices," he replied, his lip curling. "Seventeen inch waists! Ridiculous! If women were meant to have figures like toothpicks, they'd have been born that way."

She emerged from behind the screen, in a simple pink ruffled nightgown embellished with blue cornflowers she had embroidered herself. Her hair tumbled down across the shoulders to her waist in a curling chestnut curtain. She looked charmingly fetching and also somewhat vulnerable.

Rumple looked up from where he was lying in bed, the sheet and duvet drawn up to his stomach. He reminded her of a content cat, his hair hanging in his eyes. "Come to bed, Belle. I don't bite. Or drool all over my pillow." He tried for a little humor to lighten her anxiety.

She came and cautiously sat on the side of the bed. She hadn't slept with anyone since she was a small girl and had crawled into bed with her parents after a nightmare. She hoped he didn't steal the covers or hog the pillow or kick or fart in his sleep. She also hoped she didn't do any of those things either. _If I do, I hope he doesn't mention them. And I'll do the same._

She slid her feet beneath the sheets and drew her knees to her chest and settled onto the pillow. She pulled the covers up to her chin, then turned her head and looked at her husband.

"Are you warm now?" he asked solicitously.

"Snug as a bug in a rug," she giggled softly.

Her foot slid down and touched his ankle.

He yelped. "Woman, your foot's like ice!"

"I'm sorry," she groaned.

Then she gasped as he sat up, pulled her foot into his lap and began rubbing it.

"Rum! What are you doing?" her eyes almost bugged out.

"Making sure you don't get frostbite," he replied. "You really ought to wear socks on your feet," he half-scolded. He mentally added a pair of sleep socks to his list of things to make for her. His hands rubbed firmly yet gently over the arch of her foot and glided over the ball and toes.

She giggled a little bit and wriggled her toes. "That tickles!"

He smirked. "Aye, looks like you're a wee bit . . .sensitive, Mrs. Gold."

His thumb rubbed over the bottom of her toes, making them curl and she buried her face in her pillow, laughing uncontrollably.

Still smirking slyly, he ran his hands over the top of her foot, rubbing until the skin became pink again. Her skin tingled but it felt good, especially when he massaged the heel with his thumbs.

She groaned in pleasure.

He halted. "Am I hurting ye?"

"No . . .no . .. feels good . . .you have magic hands."

"That's a matter of opinion," he said, thinking how once it had been true.

Then he went and took her other foot in his lap and started massaging it too, and occasionally playfully tickling it as well. He loved hearing her laugh, it reminded him of the silver bells tinkling, ironically. He admired the shapely arch of her foot, tapering gracefully down to her petite toes, and the turn of her ankle, which was slender yet sturdy.

His fingers kneaded and glided by turns, warming her icy flesh with their friction and rubbing, as well as easing all the soreness in them from a long day of standing on her feet and rushing to and fro to get things done for the wedding feast.

Belle felt like she was some princess in a sultan's harem or some fine lady visiting a salon in Paris. She shut her eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his hands on her foot, so soothing and relaxing. She felt like her bones were melting into a puddle right there in the middle of the bed and a sweet smile graced her lips.

Perhaps being married wasn't going to be so bad after all.

She drifted off to sleep, she was so relaxed.

When Rumple set her foot down with a gentle pat beneath the covers again, and looked to see how she had enjoyed his impromptu massage, he saw her asleep, looking as innocent as a spring morning.

"Good night, dearie," he whispered tenderly, and then he leaned over and kissed her gently, a butterfly kiss , on the lips so as not to waken her.

He pulled the sheets up over her and then blew out the candle, settling down on his side of the bed and slowly shutting his eyes. He hoped she didn't snore, as he slipped off into dreamland.

He was awakened abruptly by his leg going into spasms, as sometimes happened when the temperature dropped suddenly. He woke with a soft gasp of pain, and immediately began trying to massage the cramp away.

He swore as the sharp ache lingered.

"Rum? Is it your leg?" Belle sat up beside him, blinking her eyes sleepily.

"Just a cramp," he hissed, rubbing. "I'll be fine. Go back to sleep."

But Belle couldn't do that. Her healer soul wouldn't allow it. She slipped from the bed and went to her medicine chest in the corner and pulled out a certain powder from a drawer. She then picked up a small glass next to the water pitcher, poured a measure of water into the glass and mixed the powder into it with a small wooden stirrer.

Then she carried it over to him. "Here. Drink this. It'll help."

He took the glass. "What is it? Hemlock?" he joked.

"Rum! Really!" she pretended to be annoyed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Just kidding. What is it?"

"Quinine powder in water. It'll help the cramping."

He downed the cup, wincing at the bitter taste.

Belle glanced down at his leg, which was quite well formed, except for the ankle, which was misshapen and crooked from being broken. Her hands automatically reached for his foot, without thought, they closed on it gently, feeling along it.

Rumple froze. Since he had come home, Milah had never so much as looked at his crippled foot, except to spit and remind him he was coward who should have died. But no one, except Bae as wee lad, had ever touched his injured foot like Belle was doing.

Her hands felt expertly along the bone, noting that it had been broken . . .or had shattered . . .in two places . . .and it had not mended well at all. She looked up at him. "Rum, this ankle wasn't set right."

"It wasn't set at all, dearie."

"In the name of God, why?" she demanded.

"No one knew how," he sighed, which was true, and no one had cared either. He also wouldn't have been allowed to visit the company healers, though perhaps that had been a blessing, as half of them were unskilled and butchers who killed more than they saved.

She massaged the twisted tendons, saying, "Perhaps you ought to soak it too later on. In a hot tub with Epsom salts. That might relax these muscles. But the quinine should help."

Now it was his turn to blush and be embarrassed. To have her hands on his foot, the broken appendage that had brought him pain and suffering, though also a chance to see his son grow and raise him the way his own father never had, caused a slow heat to suffuse him. "You don't have to . . .it usually goes away in an hour or so." Or it lingered, but he'd learned to bear it.

She lifted her head and gave him a look that was part stubborn mule and part mischievous pixie. "You expect me to go back to sleep when you're sitting here suffering?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not dying, as my first wife used to say."

Her lips tightened in disapproval. "She sounds like a cold-hearted bitter hag, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I've said worse, so no," he admitted, his mouth quirking up.

She continued her massage, and he released a sigh of relief when either it or the powder she had given him worked and the throbbing cramp stopped.

"How's that?"

"Much better. Thank you, Belle."

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help you. Like you did me," she said with an impish grin.

His eyes slid down to her feet, which were bare since she had forgotten to put on slippers. "What are you doing without slippers on!" he mock-scolded. "Get back in bed before you freeze!"

"I'm more worried about your ankle," she began.

"Never you mind me, dearie. Bed!" he pretended to growl, then he reached out and gave her a playful spank on the behind, like he used to do to Bae to get him to hustle somewhere.

She gave him an arch look and then got back into bed.

He grunted as her slightly chilly foot touched his leg. "When we wake up tomorrow, I'm making you a pair of sleep socks."

"Sleep socks?"

"Yes, so you can sleep with them on . . .and your feet will stay warm."

She ran her foot teasingly down his leg.

He jumped. "Minx!" he shook a finger at her. "The first thing I do after breakfast," he stated.

Then he brought his other leg around and trapped her foot neatly between his.

Belle's cerulean eyes widened. "Mr. Gold!"

"Now, Mrs. Gold . . .are you going to behave and go to sleep?" he asked, playing a stern patriarch. "Or shall I just sleep like this for the rest of the night, hmm?" He giggled wickedly.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Spoilsport." Then she burst out laughing, and had to cover her mouth with her hand to muffle it lest she wake the house.

He raised his eyebrow, and it climbed into his floofy bangs. "Well?" he drawled.

"All right."

He removed his leg and allowed her to pull her foot back onto her side of the bed. His eyes were twinkling in the faint light of the early dawn. He yawned. "Good night again, Belle."

"Night, Rum." She snuggled on her side, facing him.

Both felt their eyelids growing heavy and they drifted off to sleep listening to each other breathe.

Morning found the two newlyweds snuggled together in bed, with the covers about their ears, and Belle's leg thrown over Rumple's and his hand splayed across her back, their noses almost touching upon the pillow.

** A/N: Hope you all liked this sweet fluffy chapter! Don't forget to review if you'd be so kind. I really appreciate it. The wedding cake traditions were something interesting I'd read and decide to include. And who liked the banter between Mr. and Mrs. Gold?**


	8. Snowy Sunday

**8**

**Snowy Sunday**

The morning after the wedding, Belle and Rumple slept in, not minded to wake when the rooster crowed. As a wedding present, Bae and Regina decided to make breakfast for them. They decided to make scrambled eggs, pancakes with dried cranberries, and bacon. Regina made up the pancake batter while Bae scrambled the eggs and sliced the bacon.

"I can do the bacon, while you do the pancakes," the girl said, somewhat bossily.

Bae shrugged. "Sure."

She handed him the butter. "Grease the pan good."

"All right, Miss Bossyboots."

She glared at him. "I am not bossy. _You_ just need reminding."

"Oh? Says who?" he demanded.

"Me," she retorted, then turned to put slices of bacon into the cast iron skillet.

"And you think you're not bossy? You and the cow could be sisters," he snorted, greasing the griddle and then pouring a pancake onto it.

Regina spun around. "You sassing me, _wasicu?_"

"What did you just call me?" he frowned, thinking it was some kind of swear word in her native tongue.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she smirked.

"So what if I am?" he demanded. "What do you think you're gonna do about it?"

"This!" she crowed and snapped her dishcloth at his backside.

He yelped. "Regina, you wretch!"

"Ha! I just counted coup on you!"

Bae didn't know what that meant either, but he wasn't minded to let her get away with it. He grabbed a second dishcloth and chased her across the kitchen and around the table.

Giggling, Regina fled from him, saying teasingly, "You are slow as molasses, Baelfire!"

"That's what you think!" he cried, and ducked under the table to try and ambush her.

Regina dodged his swipe, squealing.

The two were having so much fun that only the smell of burnt pancake recalled them back to thir original task.

"Aww, dammit!" Regina swore, then counted herself lucky her mother couldn't hear her.

Bae wrinkled his nose. "It was my fault." He flipped the burnt to a crisp pancake into the slop barrel.

"We'd better open a window, to get the stink out or else we'll be smelling it all day," Regina sighed, and flipped open the shutters, allowing a crisp winter wind to blow the stench away. "Good thing Mama wasn't here, she'd scold for not paying attention."

"So would Papa," Bae admitted. He poured more batter onto the griddle.

Regina went to turn the bacon, which luckily was not burnt.

"Blast!" Bae growled. "Forgot to put more butter on." He went to remove the pancake with his spatula and in his haste touched the side of the griddle with his hand. "Ahhh!"

"Bae! Are you hurt?" Regina cried, alarmed.

"I burnt my hand!" he hissed, shaking it.

"Here. Let me see," she ordered, and took his injured hand in hers.

"It's not too bad," he said through gritted teeth. "I just need . . . some snow and salve on it."

"No, you need this," she corrected, then she puffed her cheeks and blew on the reddened skin softly.

As her breath danced over his blistered flesh, the hurt lessened and right before his eyes healed as if it had never been.

He gasped, partly with relief and partly with awe. "You . . .healed me. With your magic."

She nodded. "It's called Shaman's Breath. If you know how, you can breathe life back into a person who has drowned."

"I believe it. And if you can do that with just a breath, what could you do with a kiss?" he said, not realizing he had spoken that last aloud.

"A kiss?" she blurted.

"Uh . . umm . . .yeah . . .you know, a kiss to make it better," he coughed, now his cheeks heating as red as his hand had been. Had he really said that aloud?

Regina swallowed, noting now that she was quite close to him, her nose inches from his own. Near enough to kiss . . .and with a flicker of embarrassment, she dropped his hand. "I'm sorry if I . . .made you uncomfortable," she babbled awkwardly. "I forgot . . .not everyone enjoys magic being done to them." Now her cheeks flushed a dusky rose, and she looked down at her moccasins.

"It's all right," he said, for while once that had been true, back when his papa had been the Dark One of legend, he found that he didn't mind this new magic—shaman's magic—the way he thought he would. "Thank you."

Her eyes darted to him. "You really don't mind? Or think I'm witchy?"

"You are a witch," he replied honestly. "But in my land witch is a word for a wise woman."

"It is? The people in Storybrooke make it sound . . .dirty. Evil."

"Well, it didn't start out that way," Bae told her.

"And I'm hardly wise," the girl chuckled.

"You'll get there," Bae grinned. "Like my papa always says, if years equal wisdom, just keep breathing in and out and you'll acquire it."

"Shoot! My bacon!" she groaned, looking at the blackened strips in the pan. With a sigh, she tossed them into the slop bucket. Then she shook her finger at her new "sibling". "You really have to quit distracting me, or else we're gonna burn down the house."

"Me?" he gave her an innocent look. Then he said, "Fine. Let's get this over with so we can eat, cause I'm starving."

Breakfast was cooked without incident after that, and they made up two plates for Rum and Belle and put it on a tray with a small bud vase with a hothouse tea rose plucked from Belle's wedding bouquet.

As he prepared to carry the tray into their parents' room, Bae asked, "So . . . just what _did_ you call me before?"

"_Wasicu. _It's the Algonquin word for white boy," she replied sassily.

"That's not too bad."

"It all depends on who says it," she told him. "Like if someone called me a dirty squaw."

Bae scowled. "Anyone who calls you that will get my fist in his teeth." He knew enough now to know that was an insult in the mouth of a white person.

"You'd beat up someone for me?" Regina asked.

"Yes. Same as I used to beat up people who made fun of my papa and called him a crippled coward. He didn't like it much, but I don't let anybody talk trash about my family, I don't care who they are."

Regina was touched by this. It had been a long time since anyone had defended her. Among her own people she had learned to fight her own battles and hold her own among the youngsters her own age, but among the whites she was not supposed to display "impudent" or "unladylike" behavior.

"You're as loyal as a wolf, Bae. And as fierce," she said gratefully. It almost reminded her of how Horse used to be when they were children. "Let's deliver this before it gets cold."

Inside the bedroom, Belle woke to discover her leg was wrapped around Rum's own . . .like those Bavarian dough treats they called "pretzels". Not only that but he had his arm curled about her . . .middle and his hand was splayed across her back. She felt a slow flush climb up the back of her neck as she realized they had spent all night in this . . .embrace.

_He's your husband, nothing to be ashamed of,_ she recalled. But they had not even consummated their marriage and yet . . . _this_ was how they ended up sleeping? Perhaps it was a sign? She wriggled a bit, and moved her leg away, and then tried to slip free of his arm, but he clutched her tighter, half-asleep, and she found her bosom was squished against his shoulder and her face was inches from his own.

He muttered something sleepily. " . . .m'cold . . .next time don't hog all the sheets, dearie . . ."

"Me?" she protested. "_You_ pulled half of them over to your side of the bed, Mr. Gold!"

At that his lashes—so long she envied them—fluttered and he opened his eyes to gaze at her. "Umm . . .good morning . . ."

Those eyes . . .she could lose herself in their sienna depths . . . she licked her lips involuntarily.

One eyebrow quirked. "Do I look good enough to eat, Mrs. Gold?"

" Umm . . no . . err . . ." she stammered, realizing she was still too close to him . . .though a part of her was whispering naughtily that it wasn't close enough.

His breath tickled her cheek and she loved how it smelled pleasantly of mint, not of rum the way that bounder and cad Jones had. She found herself smiling at him, unable to help herself.

Rumple thought he had never seen such brilliant eyes, like midnight sapphires in a priceless crown, or pieces of the night sky sparkling. His hand came up involuntarily, and his fingers wound irresistibly in her hair, twirling the lush thick strands around like thread, admiring the way the sunlight hit them and turned them from dark chestnut to fiery auburn.

"Your hair . . .is like the softest silken thread . . .yet strong as triple woven wool," he murmured softly. "And utterly irresistible."

"Do you plan on spinning my hair?" she laughed throatily.

"I would need to find a wheel fine enough not to ruin your delicate strands," he said huskily. "But what a lovely tapestry it would make, dark chocolate, fiery auburn, and even a hint of gold."

"When you put it that way . . .you make my hair sound positively lovely."

"Why wouldn't you think so?"

"Well . . .when I was child, my nurse told me it was a shame I didn't have honey colored hair like my mama, like spun gold. And men seem to prefer women who are blonde. I've always regarded my hair as rather . . .common. It's not even night black like Regina's."

"Your hair is as lovely as an autumn sunset, dearie. Trust me. It's mine that's rather ordinary."

"Oh no! Your hair is . . ."

"Going gray?"

"No, it's very distinguished. Like a fine wine or . . .a sleek stallion's coat," now it was her turn to blush. "Among the _Mesquakie_, a good horse is highly prized. I'm sorry if that didn't sound very flattering."

"No, no . . .I much prefer that to being compared to a fleabitten hound with mange," he replied.

She gaped at him. "Who said that about you?"

"My first wife," he grunted.

"Rum, that's awful!"

"That was Milah for you," he sighed. It was then that he realized her was holding her very close, and he couldn't remember the last time he had held a woman this way. Not since before Bae was born, since after he had returned home, Milah refused him her bed, repulsed by sharing herself with a crippled coward. He was amazed at how good it felt, to hold this petite lovely woman in his arms, and smell the sweet scent of lemons and honey that wafted from her hair.

She shifted against him, and he swallowed hard against his rising libido as her chest rubbed against his shoulder.

He almost leaned down to kiss her, but a sharp knock on the door made them both turn beet red and draw back from each other, on opposite sides of the bed.

"Papa? Uh . . you awake?"

"Bae? What's wrong?" Rumple asked, thanking his lucky stars his son hadn't just barged in and caught him locked in a torrid embrace with his new wife.

"Nothing. We . . err . . just brought you some breakfast," his son announced.

"How very sweet, Rum!" Belle said, sitting up and drawing her quilted robe on. "Come in!" she called cheerily.

The door swung open to admit Bae carrying a tray and Regina carrying a teapot. "We made you some strawberry tea also, Mama."

"Thank you both. That was very thoughtful of you," Belle smiled at them. She sniffed appreciatively. "It smells delicious."

As if in agreement, Rumple's stomach rumbled. "I have to agree with that, dearie."

Bae set the tray down on their laps with a flourish. "Breakfast is served, Mr. and Mrs. Gold!"

Regina placed the pot of tea on the nightstand and said, "We hope you like it."

"Of course we will," Belle assured her, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Rumple drizzled maple syrup over his pancakes. He took a bite and pronounced them excellent. "Even better, you didn't burn the house down. The way Bae did when he was seven and tried to cook porridge."

"Papa!" Bae went scarlet.

Regina started laughing. "You _did_? Then that explains why you burned the pancake."

"Hey! _You_ burned the bacon."

"Children, don't quarrel," Belle put in firmly.

"Yes'm!" they chorused.

Belle saw the rose and said, "You've thought of everything."

"A most excellent meal. Now go and eat some yourself," Rum ordered.

The two didn't need to be told twice. They departed at top speed, to make some more food for themselves, leaving the newlyweds to eat their breakfast companionably.

"Looks like they're getting along tolerably well," Belle remarked, eating some eggs and bacon. "Except for the occasional spat."

"All children have them," Rum said easily, sipping his tea after adding two lumps of sugar and a bit of cream. "Considering both are only children, they may be a wee bit jealous sometimes of the attention we pay one or the other, but with patience and firmness we can deal with it."

Belle ate a pancake then asked, "What were your methods of discipline with Bae, Rum? The way children are treated here differs between whites and Indians. Mesquakie don't use much physical correction to discipline a child, they use chores and hard work instead, as well as lectures and teaching by example for the most part. The few times a child was ever switched was for telling lies or a boy hitting a girl, since it's frowned on for a man to use physical force against a woman unless it's in self defense, since the Mesquakie are matrilineal, meaning they trace their descent through the mother's lineage rather than the father and woman in their society are more equal than in white society. And to tell a lie taints one's honor, so children are taught when they are young to never speak an untruth. I've scolded Regina on occasion for her quick tongue and also given her extra chores if she displays any attitude with me, but I've never raised a hand to her."

"That's very similar to how I discipline my son, Belle. I usually use lectures and periods of reflection in his room if he gets out of line with me. When he was younger, it was facing a wall and on rare occasions a smack with my hand. There was only one time I turned him over my knee, and that was for deliberately disobeying me and almost burning the cottage down by playing with the stove in an attempt to cook breakfast. I've also used chores as punishments, and carding wool since Bae thinks it's horrendously boring. I'm not a big advocate of beating a child to teach them the error of their ways, and once Bae was thirteen I stopped using that method of correction on him. You needn't fear I'll be overly harsh with Regina."

Belle exhaled in relief. "It's not that I thought you were that kind of man-the strict patriarch-but . . .I had to make sure."

In fact she thought the tailor had one of the calmest temperaments she had ever seen, and seemed to use his brains more than most men she had met in Storybrooke. But this was her beloved daughter, so she needed to make certain he wouldn't harm her.

"I understand. And I trust you will do the same with Bae?"

"Of course, Rum. I promise to love him like my own."

Now it was Rumple's turn to look relieved, since Milah hadn't been the best of mothers to Bae as a child, being too impatient and quick to use words and her hands on the little scamp.

"And I shall be the same with Regina," he promised in turn.

They lingered a bit over their empty plates, content to drink their strawberry tea and Rumple planned the color of mohair yarn he was going to use to knit Belle the sleep socks he'd promised her, so he didn't suffer from her freezing feet at night and she was warm and snug.

That, he decided, would be her morning gift from him.

Belle was also thinking about his morning gift from her, and decided to give Rum her papa's gold pocket watch and chain. She had inherited it upon Maurice's death, and she thought it might be a nice gesture to show she accepted Rum as part of her family now.

Once they had finished breakfast, they each retired behind the dressing screen to change into their clothes for the day. Belle wore one of her everyday dresses, a soft cornflower blue one with brown edging along the bodice and puffed white sleeves, complete with thick stockings and sensible shoes. She decided to not wear the corset, as she was still sore and settled for winding a length of linen about her breasts and tying the laces of her apron tighter. She did her hair up in a chignon to keep it out of her eyes when she baked.

Rumple wore his ordinary brown trousers, cream shirt and brown waistcoat. He wore a handsome tweed wool jacket and carefully shaved and brushed his teeth after he had put on his shoes. He had bought something called bay rum aftershave at the barber's and rubbed some on after his ablutions. Then he ran a comb through his sometimes unruly hair, picked up his staff and turned and held out his arm to his wife.

"Shall we, dearie?"

"Certainly, Rum," she put her arm in his and they walked out of the bedroom and down to the parlor.

Bae and Regina had finished scrubbing up the dishes and sweeping the floor, and were currently relaxing in front of the fire. Bae had his book, and Regina continued to work on the last bit of the beading for Rumple's moccasins.

They presented quite a cozy domestic tableau, two dark heads bent over their respective tasks, and they made Belle smile. She recalled that she had longed a year ago to have a family, and now perhaps that dream could still be realized, even if Mr. Gold wasn't quite the man she had thought she'd marry.

He had been considerate and kind to her on their wedding night, and she found him endearing and sweet and oddly enough handsome as well. Though he hadn't offered her the slightest impropriety, she sensed that beneath his shy and quiet demeanor beat the heart of a very passionate man. _Still waters run deep._ She had a feeling such was the case with Rumford Gold.

She moved into the parlor, and took her accustomed place in the rocking chair in front of the hearth, pulling some mending from her work basket.

Rum sat in the other chair, and took from his own knitting basket a ball of softest rose pink yarn and his knitting needles. Then without further ado he began knitting Belle's sleep socks.

In this way the family passed the morning, and once Belle was finished mending Regina's apron and letting the hem out on her dress, she rose and went to find the watch and put it in a small box to give to Rum. Tucking the gift in her pocket she went to slice up some ham and cheese for sandwiches for lunch, as well as putting some pickled beets and a bowl of dried apples out as well.

They all joined her in the kitchen for lunch, which they had with glasses of pressed cider, and afterwards she presented her husband with her gift. "Usually it's custom for a new wife to give her husband a token of her affection upon the morning after their wedding. And I thought you could use this, Rum."

He took the box and then said, "That's very kind of you, Belle. And here's my gift for you." He handed her the sleep socks wrapped in a piece of blue paper and tied with a blue ribbon.

She took it with all the excitement of a child with a birthday present, though she had already guessed what it was.

"What is it, Mama?" asked Regina, deciding to wait to give Rumple her gift.

"Let's see," Belle said, and undid the wrapping. "Oh!" she held up the socks and hugged them to her. "Rum, they're so soft! And such a lovely color!"

"They match your nightgown," he said, a pleased light in his eyes. "And now you won't have your feet freezing at night."

"What's your gift, Papa?" Bae asked curiously.

Rumple opened his box and lifted out the pocket watch, which had a compass rose etched into the front and when he opened it, saw the watch and smiled. "This is a splendid gift, Belle! I can wear this to work and not need to ask Jack for the time."

"I thought it might come in handy. It was my papa's and I felt it was right to pass it down to you. If he had a son, it would have gone to him, but since I was his only surviving child, it came to me as part of my inheritance last year."

"My condolences on your loss," he said sincerely. "I hope his passing was an easy one."

"He went very suddenly, it was his heart, in his sleep. I am glad the Lord was merciful," Belle said sincerely. She missed him dearly, but it had been his time, and when the Lord called you answered. "He would be glad to see you wear it, instead of letting it gather dust in my jewelry box."

Rumple put the watch in his waistcoat breast pocket, touched by her regard in giving him a family heirloom. He was also glad she liked his more practical gift and didn't turn her nose up at such plebeian offerings, unlike Milah, who had sniffed at his gift of a set of gloves and a handwoven scarf all those years ago.

Belle tucked her new socks into her apron pocket, looking forward to wearing them that night, and being toasty in them. "I've never known someone to knit as quickly as you do, Rum. And so well."

"I've always been good at making clothing," he said modestly.

Bae went and retrieved the gift he had made for his new mother, hoping she liked the little brooch with his drawing of his papa's profile. He'd done some odd jobs for Mr. Sprat the jeweler in exchange for the simple filigree pewter brooch that could hold a cameo or a small portrait. "This is for you, Mama," he held out his offering. "To celebrate your marriage."

Belle took the brooch and exclaimed, "Why, Bae! 'Tis Rum! But . . .when did you have this made?"

"I bartered for the brooch in town, did some extra chores around Mr. Sprat's shop," he explained. "The picture . . .I drew that."

Belle held the brooch up, admiring it. "Bae, this is amazing! I had no idea you could draw so well. I shall wear this on my collar." She pinned it on immediately. "Thank you!"

He hugged her. "You're welcome."

"And this is from me, Papa," Regina said, and brought forth her moccasins, which had a red fox and yellow chevrons on them. "I thought these would be easier on your feet than hard shoes."

Rumple took the moccasins and examined them with delight. "These are lovely, dearie! Did you make them yourself?"

Regina nodded. "When I lived with my people, it was a daughter's job to make the moccasins for her menfolk if her mama wasn't alive. So I made these for you."

Rumple slipped off his brogues and put the softer moccasins on. "They are incredibly light and yet durable," he marveled. "And the design is brilliant too."

"I chose the fox because you showed cleverness and resourcefulness when you stopped that nasty Tolle and Spencer from getting their greedy paws on our home. The chevrons indicate a cheiftain's status, as head of this household."

"What material did you use for the design?"

"Porcupine quills," she replied. "Dyed different colors."

He ran his fingers down them. "Remarkable. Thank you, Gina." He hugged her. "You don't mind if I call you that, do you? A nickname, like I do Bae?"

She shook her head, her braid bouncing. "No. I like it, Papa."

It made her feel special, as her father had also had a pet name for her that only he called her—Little Mystic.

"I feel very blessed, Rum, to have such talented children," Belle said.

"So do I," he agreed, thinking that his decision to marry the pretty healer had been the right one after all.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

The next day was Sunday, and traditionally a day of worship, and a day where no real work was done in deference to it being the Lord's day. Since Belle and Regina were not able to attend services in town, they held their own kind of service at the cabin, one that incorporated a rather unorthodox method of worship, but it worked for them.

In the morning, after breakfast, which was fruit and bread with butter and coffee, the family gathered in the parlor for morning prayers. Belle held her Bible, which had been her mama's and one of the few things she had left of her, and said, "Let us give thanks to the Lord, and pray."

They recited the familiar Lord's prayer.

"Were the services different in Scotland?" Regina wanted to know.

"Umm . . .a bit, but Bae and I didn't attend often, as the kirk was faraway from our home. But we worshipped in our own way at home," Rumple improvised.

Belle nodded in understanding. "God the Creator is everywhere. Which is something most would debate with me on, saying God doesn't exist for heathens. They consider the Mesquakie such, and Regina because she follows the teachings of her people. It's why they won't let us worship in town. They forget, this country was founded on religous tolerance." She frowned angrily. "But no matter. God knows what's in your heart, and He can hear you whether you are in a church or in the wilderness." She opened the Bible and said, "I think today I'll read the story of Joseph and the Coat of Many Colors."

As she began to read in her soft yet expressive voice, Rumple and Bae found themselves enraptured by the story of the young man who was betrayed by his brothers out of jealousy and sold into slavery in Egypt, they listened to how Joseph was first a slave in Potipher's household and later rose to Governor of all Egypt, through his cleverness and his ability to Dream true. Eventually he was also reunited with his family, and managed to forgive his brothers and they all lived together happily.

"I have always liked that story," Belle said once she had finished. "For it shows that though a man might be thrown down by fortune's hand, with faith and fortitude he can raise himself up again and become someone of consequence." She held the Bible out to Rumple. "Would you like to pick a passage to read, Rum?"

Rumple, who had no true experience with the holy book, though he had flicked through it a time or two, opened it to a passage from Ecclesiastes. "Love is patient, love is kind . . ." he read in his mellifluous voice, his slight accent making the reading all that more poignant. How ironic, he thought, that he had chosen this particular passage to read the second day after their wedding.

Or perhaps it wasn't after all, he mused.

When he had finished, Regina said, in her clear voice, "And now I'll tell a story of my people. This story, it is said, must only be told when there is snow on the ground, otherwise you'll have a plague of frogs in your bed. This is the story of how the birch tree got its dark burns on its white bark."

She began to tell the tale of a young boy, who along with his old grandmother, was freezing and unable to cook their food or have light and warmth because in those days they had no fire. The grandmother asked the boy to go and find fire in the home of the Thunderbird, who kept it shut up in his great palace.

The boy stole the fire and put it in small container of birchbark, then he ran like crazy down the pathway back to the earth from the heavens. Thunderbird chased him, his wings spitting thunder and lightning. The boy knew he was never going to make it home alive, for the thunder beings were the most powerful in the universe and none of them wanted lowly humans to have fire.

Desperate, he took shelter in the branches of the white birch and cried, "O brother, hide me from Thunderbird's wrath!"

And the birch sheltered him, even when Thunderbird came flying by and scorched the tender birch's bark with lighting, setting it on fire and leaving great black burns on its white bark. The loyal birch endured until Thunderbird gave up and went away, and the boy returned to his grandmother with the fire and from that day to this, people have fire to warm themselves and cook their food, and they honor the white birch for its loyalty and friendship and use it to make many useful things, such as canoes.

Regina finished the story by saying the traditional, "And so I've been told," for all the moral tales had some variations based upon the tribe and the storyteller. Then she said, "The Creator-_Gitchi Manitou_—you would say the Great Spirit, has given us this world to take care of, and all things on it have a piece of his spirit within them—the land, the trees, the animals—for we are all one, and we all live because of each other. The land gives to us her bounty, and so we must give back in turn, for all things in Balance, all honor to the Great One. And if you break the Balance, best be prepared to pay a great price, or else unleash evil and chaos upon the world."

"For all magic comes with a price," Rumple said.

"It is so, my father," Regina nodded, pleased he understood that basic tenet.

Belle read another passage from the New Testament this time, of Jesus feeding the five hundred people with the five loaves and fishes, then they took more time to pray and contemplate what they had heard.

Rumple found this time of quiet reflection very soothing and refreshing. He had never had found comfort before in the faith of his own realm, because it had always seemed to him that the gods he'd believed in were capricious beings, who watched the suffering and trouble of mortals and did nothing to inspire or help them. Nor did many of their clerics. Oh they preached their doctrine, but more often could be seen preaching against heretics and attacking them, of rousing the people to drive such a one out or burn them, rather than helping to bring peace and foster good will. There was no tolerance towards the different either, no one to stand up for those who were mocked and spit upon, as he had been. And nothing had come between him and his despair when Bae would have been dragged off to war to die, except the most evil being of all, to offer a deal he didn't understand, and trick him by his own desperation into darkness.

But , he thought solemnly, had he had such faith as this in that dark hour, he would have had hope, and so avoided the devil's bargain. _The meek shall inherit the earth._ For it seems this God, whatever name you give him, values even men such as he had been, and Rumple's lifelong stigma and fear seemed to wither as he realized that despite his flaws, he was still worthy of being loved and indeed that he didn't have to be perfect or heroic or pure in spirit to be loved either, that God would love him just the way he was, for God loved all equally, saint as well as sinner. He was profoundly moved by this revelation.

He raised his eyes from his clasped hands and shyly glanced at Belle, and thought that perhaps in time this fragile affection and desire could become at last the love they both wished for.

If you believed.

Then he turned back to his contemplation, and his weary spirit basked in the joy that it had found here, amid this simple home and the two women who had opened their hearts to two exhausted travelers one night, and so saved their lives, and perhaps even more importantly, their souls as well.

Once their services were over, Belle made tea and they drank some, then Regina looked out the window at the mounds of snow and said, "Mama, I know we're not supposed to do any work on Sunday, but the Creator says we should honor his creations."

Belle eyed her daughter fondly, noting the light of mischief in her eyes. "And in what way should we do that?"

"By going outside and playing in the snow," she announced, for she was sick of being in the house and longed to feel the wind in her hair.

Belle knew that any reverend or priest might have been scandalized by Regina's pert suggestion, but understanding her daughter and the Mesquakie the way she did, she was not shocked or disapproving at all. The Fox worked hard, but they also knew how to take time off and enjoy themselves. "I think that's a capital idea. And it's been a long time since I built a snowman or had a snowball fight, eh, Rum?"

"Papa, are you sure your leg can handle it?" Bae asked worriedly.

"My leg feels fine," his father assured him. "I can try out these new moccasins in the snow. And while I can't run, there's nothing wrong with my arms."

They all bundled up in their warmest gear and trooped out into the snowy landscape. The snow was piled high in drifts that almost came halfway to the cabin windows in some spots, and the tracks of rabbits, squirrels, and other woodland creatures were visible upon the pristine surface.

Bae at first stayed beside Rumple, just in case he stumbled, but the spinner seemed to be navigating the snow without much difficulty, using his staff. He waved his son off when he came to the shelter of a tall birch, saying, "Go and play. I'll be right over here, making snowballs." He began scooping snow into his hands and forming small but deadly little missiles and piling the results behind him.

Regina and Belle began rolling snow to build a snowman while Bae pelted them with snowballs. He got Regina in the head and the back twice before the feisty girl spun around and launched a sneak attack of her own, hurling dozens of snowballs at her annoying sibling using her magic and burying him up to his neck.

"Ha! Take that!" she declared, laughing.

"Hey! No using magic!" he cried, shivering. "It's not fair!"

"All's fair in love, war, and snowball fights," Regina giggled. She grinned impishly at Rumple. "Shall I let him out, Papa? Or shall we have a new lawn decoration till the spring thaw?"

"Papa!" Bae protested. "I'm freezing!"

Rumple chuckled. "While it might do his pride some good, lass, I don't want a bird mistaking him for a perch. Imagine the shock it would get!"

They both laughed and Bae glowered at them.

"So best let him out."

Regina waved a hand and most of the snowballs melted, allowing Bae to come out and brush himself off, his cheeks red and chapped from the cold. "Are you all right?" she queried.

"Right enough to do _this_!" then he sprang at her and knocked her into a snowbank.

They tussled and wrestled about in the snow, until Regina lay back and cried, "Let's make snow angels, Bae!"

"What's a snow angel?"

"Like this!" she demonstrated by lying flat on the snow and then moving her arms and legs up and down to create "wings" and a "skirt" for the angel. "See?"

She rose and pointed at her handiwork.

"Neat!" He fell into the snow and copied her. His hat fell off and left an indentation above the angel's head, so when he picked it up he said, "Mine has a halo. Look!"

Belle looked up from putting her larger snowball head on top of the big body and smiled. "I haven't made snow angels in years," she murmured.

"No time like the present, dearie!" Rumple called.

Belle grinned and then threw herself down in the virgin snow beside him, her hair flying like midnight fire around her head, her raspberry beret a brightly colored splotch against the icy white ground.

"Rum, come on!" she called. "You too!"

"I . . .umm . . ." he sputtered, not being overly fond of getting wet.

"Oh quit hemming and hawing, Mr. Gold! Or are you afraid of a little snow?"

"I am not!" he huffed, then he fell backwards next to her, and found the snow was warm when you were moving in it and breathless from laughing.

She clasped his hand in hers and together they moved their arms up and down in tandem.

When they stood up, she helping him, a moment later, Regina came and cried, "Oh look! Your angels are touching each other! How wonderful! Wedding angels!"

Rumple looked back and sure enough, imprinted upon the snowy ground were two angels that were joined together by their wings.

Maybe it's a sign, he thought hopefully. Then his cynical side mocked him for such foolishness.

Still it made a pretty picture, he thought, then he picked up a snowball and smashed it in his son's smirking mouth, just because.

One fierce snowball fight later and they were all half-frozen and starving, though Rumple thought Belle had never looked so fetching as she did with frozen snow crystals in her hair and her blue eyes glowing with indigo fire.

Belle thought the same of her quiet husband, whose hair was sticking about his head like a scarecrow's, and hanging in his eyes. His nose had a spot of pink on it and she went to touch it . . .and ended up kissing him quite unexpectedly.

His mouth was warm on hers and seemed to make her go from shivering with cold to trembling with desire in about two seconds. If it were possible, she was sure the snow would be melting in a puddle around her from the heat he generated within her.

His kisses were like a bonfire, setting her alight.

She had never felt so alive.

A startled Rumple reacted with his first instinct, and kissed her back fervently. He had been thinking about kissing her since she had fallen into the snow beside him, but hadn't gotten up the nerve to do so . . . until now.

A fire more potent than the magic he had once wielded licked through him.

And while he had felt lust before with Milah, this was nothing like that. This was true passion, all encompassing and all consuming, and for once he didn't give a damn who saw it or what they thought.

_The heart always knows,_ cackled an old raspy voice in the back of his mind. _And there is no finer union than that of a man and wife. _

His arms came around her and he kissed her again, his soul singing in joy.

_What God has joined together let no man tear asunder._

And no man ever would, he vowed.

When at last they recalled themselves, slightly redfaced from their impromptu display, Regina was smirking again. "With the way you two were kissing, I thought spring was gonna come early."

"Me too," Bae joked. Then he fanned himself. "It's hot out here now."

"Hush you!" Belle ordered, then she led the way back inside.

They would have leftovers for lunch and supper, since no real food could be cooked on Sunday, and she drew a hot bath in the small foot tub so her husband could soak his injured foot in it with some Epsom salts, since the cold made it stiffen and ache.

While he soaked, Rumple read _Great Expectations_ and thought how delightfully ironic the title was. He had come to this land expecting nothing except uncertainty, fear, and sorrow. But by some twist of fate, he had ended up having more than he ever thought possible, and the hopeful part of his mind whispered that his heart had found its home . . .if only he believed in the promise it offered.

** A/N: Hope you all liked and check out the beautiful cover made for this story by Wondermorena! You'll be seeing a scene with them in this garden in a future chapter. Thanks for all your support! Especially on this snowy day. Hugs and love, dearies!**


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